


Memories You Share

by ThistleOfLiberty



Series: Not Flesh and Blood Series [10]
Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: Corporal Punishment, F/M, Families of Choice, Father-Son Relationship, Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-17
Updated: 2013-10-28
Packaged: 2017-12-29 16:26:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 51,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1007554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThistleOfLiberty/pseuds/ThistleOfLiberty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The team goes on vacation. As could have been expected, there is some trouble.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> In truth a family is what you make it. It is made strong, not by number of heads counted at the dinner table, but by the rituals you help family members create, by the memories you share, by the commitment of time, caring, and love you show to one another, and by the hopes for the future you have as individuals and as a unit.
> 
> Marge Kennedy

* * *

* * *

 

There were times when Rossi regretted returning to the BAU. When they had to work for days on end, when they failed catching the UnSub, when one of the team got hurt. When he was stuck in a car with the team, who had seemingly regressed to five year olds, for hours on end.

At the time he’d made the decision, it had seemed reasonable that they drive to Leroy; it was only eight hours or so and flying, including the drive to the airport, checking in and waiting time, wouldn’t be particularly more time-effective. But of course, he hadn’t counted on the team driving him insane not even half-way to Maine. Because, quite frankly, weren’t they supposed to be mature FBI agents?

“Did you know that gummy bears where first manufactured in Germany in 1922 by Hans Riegal?”

It was Reid, of course, and Rossi fought the urge to bang his head against the steering wheel at this at least hundredth random piece of information, and apparently he wasn’t the only one feeling that way if Morgan throwing some of said gummy bears at the young man was anything to go by. Unfortunately, he instead hit Prentiss, resulting in her punching Morgan’s arm, who retaliated by throwing more of his candy at her. Prentiss turned in her seat to get better aim for her next attack, but was interrupted by Garcia, from the back seat.

“Hey!” she yelled, “Don’t touch my chocolate god!”

Prentiss just grinned viciously and ignored her warning; repeating the action of punching Morgan, who actually winced and looked prepared to hit her back. Which Rossi suspected would turn into a full blown mock-fight; something he definitely did not want.

“Do I need to stop the car?” he snapped, “You aren’t five years old, damn it! I’m trying to drive, here.”

That stopped his two team mates, but made them smirk in an absolutely insufferable way instead. Rossi merely glared at them in the rearview mirror. To his slight annoyance, all of the team seemed amused by his reprimand rather than chastised, probably recognizing that he wasn’t really all that serious. But still. With a small huff he shook his head and turned on the radio, ignoring the smug smirk Hotch sent him from his place in the passenger seat.

And for a while, the team was silent, listening to the radio going on about the wildlife of Kenya. Then Reid broke the comfortable moment of peace, though to his credit he did sound a bit embarrassed about it.

“Eh… guys?” he said, “Could we stop for something to eat?”

Rossi glanced at him, frowning, before he replied disapprovingly. “We left home four hours ago, Reid. You can’t exactly be starving.”

“Uh… well, no, I guess,” Reid mumbled in return, fiddling with his tie and studying his feet despondently. Rossi immediately felt bad about his gruff rebuttal and heaved a deep sigh.

“All right,” he said, “Yell when you see something.”

The smile that got out of the kid was almost worth staying at some run down diner, so Rossi decided not to be too annoyed and his decision held until Hotch caught his eye and mouthed “going soft” to him with an unusual penchant for teasing. Rossi just glared warningly at him, which Hotch ignored completely.

It didn’t take long before they spotted a small diner ahead and on the team’s, too loud, in Rossi’s opinion, pointing out of it, he pulled over and neatly parked the car. There were no other guests, it seemed, and although Rossi told himself not to worry, his long career inevitably brought up pictures of murders committed in roadside diners. A side effect of the job, he supposed.

“Okay, guys,” Hotch spoke up as the team prepared to exit the car, “We don’t have all the time in the world, so we’ll be quick. And remember it’s not a meal, just a snack. Oh, and Reid, it’s better if you stay in the car. What do you want?”

Rossi suppressed a smile at his boss’s obvious mothering, but didn’t say anything, instead followed the team into the diner while Hotch remained behind taking Reid’s order. He couldn’t help throwing a glance behind him as they entered to check up on Hotch, still concerned about the man’s injuries. Hotch apparently caught his glance and frowned slightly in response. He never had dealt well with concern from others.

“Afternoon, folks,” the thin and wiry man behind the counter in the diner greeted them.

“Good afternoon,” JJ returned his greeting, out of habit taking on the role as their outwards face. “Is it possible to get our food to go?”

The man shrugged disinterestedly. “Sure,” he said, “What’ll it be?”

They ordered, though the selection of foods turned out to be pretty limited, and sat down at a table to wait for the burgers to be finished.

“So…” Morgan began slowly, “Who is this Leroy guy?”

Rossi shrugged, exchanging a glance with Hotch who silently told him that this was his question to answer before he turned back to the eager team.

“Don’t you think it’s unfair if I tell you when Reid’s not here?” he teased. Morgan rolled his eyes and Prentiss scoffed. Apparently they weren’t impressed. Rossi spread his hand in a placating gesture and grinned, “Okay, okay… I’ll talk. He’s a guy I used to work with, before the BAU.”

 The team was silent for a while, apparently waiting for him to continue. Rossi, feeling like he deserved a chance to annoy them after the car ride they had just out him through, remained silent. After a while, Morgan lost his patience and gave Rossi an irritated look.

“What, that’s it?” he said.

“Well, yeah,” he said, “What else did you expect? He’s just a guy I know.”

At this, Prentiss chimed in, in her usual relaxed manner. “You implied that he was family.”

“Okay,” Rossi responded with an eye roll, “He’s a guy I know _very well_. Happy?”

Prentiss raised her eyebrows, looking far from impressed, but smiled a little anyway. “Ecstatic,” she drawled, earning a small chuckle from Morgan and a tolerant smile from JJ.

Rossi was about to retort when the man behind the counter called out that their food was ready and instead he just shot his team a grin before they grabbed the food that the man had neatly stacked into papers bags. And seven large cups of coffee.

Entering the car again, Rossi felt the need to issue a warning, considering the team’s recent behavior with their edibles. “If anyone gets food on the seat, they’re cleaning it,” he warned firmly. The team, however, seemed too busy eating to answer him and he rolled his eyes as he realized that he’d get no other response than Hotch’s small grin, which he wasn’t sure annoyed or delighted him.

Because whereas yes, it was annoying to have Hotch smirk teasingly at him when he was prepared to tear his hair over having to listen to the team, it was also nice to see the younger man relaxed and prepared to have some fun instead of being the responsible leader. Rossi guessed that it was because this was no longer work, and Hotch felt more comfortable letting go of some of his control. And possibly because Rossi had spanked him just a few days before and that had reminded him that it was okay to rely on the older man.

The following few hours were quieter, because the team had tired of their antics or because they had decided to act their age Rossi wasn’t sure, and he could listen undisturbed to the radio while Reid napped, Garcia played with her laptop, Morgan listened to music, Prentiss read, JJ either napped or rested and Hotch also, it seemed, listened to the radio.

He should have known that this peace and quiet wouldn’t continue, he supposed, but he still groaned when Reid three hours or so later piped up an almost ridiculously childish question.

“Are we there soon?” he asked. Rossi took a deep breath before he answered.

“You probably have the entire country memorized, Reid,” he said, “You tell me.”

For a moment, Reid seemed a bit surprised at the rather gruff retort but then he shrugged and began telling Rossi. In great detail.

“Well, we just passed into New Hampshire,” he said, “So I’d say that, assuming we take the major roads, there’s, eh… 177 miles left, which will take… 2 hours and 36 minutes. That is, of course, if you keep your current speed as an average. But since we will travel at least some part on the interstate in Maine which has a higher speed limit it will in fact be something more like, eh…”

The kid seemed to be about to go off on a long rant about the various potential timeframes and Rossi vaguely considered stopping him, but settled on just zoning out. It wasn’t as if the kid was hurting anyone. At least, Rossi didn’t think so; Morgan, on the other, apparently did.

“Kid!” he said loudly. Reid quieted and gave him a wide-eyed innocent look, and Rossi had a hard time deciding whether it was pretend or not. “Shut up.”

Reid’s brow furrowed and he glared at Morgan. “He asked,” he defended himself. Morgan just raised his eyebrows.

“Rhetorically,” he said.

“No, it wasn’t,” Reid retorted, now glaring at Morgan with some real annoyance. Rossi silently reminded himself never again to drive with these kids for longer than two hours.

“No offense, kid,” Morgan said, “but you’re not exactly the authority on that.”

It actually was quite offensive, considering Reid’s insecurities about his ability to read social cues, and Rossi was about to call him on it, but Reid forestalled him.

“What, and you _are_?” he asked sarcastically. Apparently, Rossi wasn’t the only one whose mood had been affected by what seemed like an endless car ride. He glanced at Hotch, looking to see if the younger man wanted to handle this, but Hotch had turned away and was leaning against the window; obviously leaving this to Rossi.

“Guys,” he said warningly. They both looked disgruntled for a moment, but heeded the warning and turned to stare out their respective windows. Pleased, Rossi turned his attention back to the driving and for another hour or so the car was once again silent, apart from the radio which was by now talking about the Thirty Years’ War.

But, as always, it didn’t last and this time it was Garcia who broke the silence.

“Don’t you think it’s time for dinner?” she asked. Rossi shrugged and shot Hotch a questioning glance, because even though the younger man seemed content to let Rossi make the decisions for the moment, Rossi knew that it might very well annoy him if he wasn’t at least consulted with. But Hotch merely shook his head disinterestedly, again delegating the decision to Rossi, and Rossi immediately felt worry that he was worse off than he seemed flare up. He reminded himself to interrogate Hotch when they reached Leroy.

“Well, I guess it is,” Rossi said, “but if we wait an hour or so we can get a proper home cooked meal. So unless you guys are starving..?”

There was a general agreement that no-one was in fact starving and that they would continue driving, a decision Rossi greeted with relief because he was definitely looking forwards not only to meeting his old friends but also to take advantage of said friends’ comfortable beds. With this is mind, he sped up a little.

 

* * *

 

 

It was close to half past nine when they finally reached the Leroy’s remote house and Rossi had a feeling he wasn’t the only one who was starving and he probably wasn’t the only one exhausted either; even though he had driven the absolute majority of the way, two of them were injured. With this in mind, he hoped that Leroy and Jo had decided to play perfect hosts and had already made their beds for them.

They had, at the very least, cooked, if the smell that came over them as soon as they stepped out of the car was anything to go by. After making sure that Morgan was helping Reid out of the car, and that Hotch wasn’t grimacing in pain which would mean that he had probably reopened all nine of his wounds, he turned to the house.

Just as he was wondering whether he would really have to actually ring the doorbell, the door was thrown open and Leroy and Jo exited, both smiling brightly. Rossi found himself smiling equally brightly in return and embraced the man emphatically.

“Dave!” Leroy said, “You came.”

Breaking away from the hug, Rossi mock glared at him and shook his head. “As if we had a choice,” he said, “You have control issues, my friend.”

Leroy didn't answer, as Rossi was by then overtaken by Jo who had finished her hugging of Hotch, and instead turned to Hotch and hugged him, more gently than he had Rossi considering his recent wounds.

“Jo,” Rossi greeted the woman who was now hugging him tightly, smiling charmingly, “You’re as beautiful as ever.”

 Jo returned the smile wryly, kissing him lightly on the cheek. “It’s good to see you, Dave,” she simply said before she took a step back and joined her husband, who had finished his enthusiastic welcoming of Hotch, in surveying their newly arrived guests, raising her eyebrows demandingly at Rossi who took the hint and began making introductions.

“This is my team,” he began, addressing the two, “or well, Hotch’s team, really. Jennifer Jareau, Emily Prentiss, Penelope Garcia, Derek Morgan and Spencer Reid. Guys, this is Alexandre and Joanne Leroy.”

They proceeded to exchange handshakes, except Reid who kept in the background and just smiled and waved shyly, and Garcia, who hugged both Leroy and Jo without hesitation. 

“Well, if we’re all done with the introductions,” Leroy said, as soon as they were in fact done, and gestured invitingly toward the house, “there’s dinner waiting.”

The team didn’t need to be told twice and immediately followed Leroy into the house and the dining room, taking their seat at the table at Leroy’s invitation. The table was already set, including the food, and all that was missing was a good wine, which Rossi was pretty certain would be produced within seconds. And indeed; Leroy soon exited the kitchen with two bottles and began filling the team’s glasses. Hotch stopped him with a shake of the head, and Reid did as well.

“We’re both on medication still,” Hotch explained and though Leroy seemed skeptical about the validity of that argument, Jo nodded approvingly.

“Your loss,” Leroy said with a philosophical shrug, probably realizing that he could hardly press the point. “Do you want anything instead, or just water?”

Both Hotch and Reid were content with water and Leroy went to get a pitcher of it and when he returned they could finally get onto eating. Rossi was starving, and the aromas from the chicken that was on the table had made his mouth water and his stomach grumble. From the enthusiastic way the team filled their plates he wasn’t the only one, either.

“So…” Leroy began after a moment of silence, “How long are you expecting to stay?”

Rossi gave him an incredulous look, raising his eyebrows. “Ignorance doesn’t suit you,” he drawled. His old friend didn't even bother to hide the smirk on his face and shrugged, somewhat smugly.

“Well, you might not stay _here_ the whole week.”

“That’s the idea,” Hotch chimed in and the reply only served to make the self-satisfied grin on Leroy’s face even more self-satisfied.

“Do you have any plans?” Jo asked. Everyone’s eyes immediately turned to Hotch and then Rossi when Hotch just shrugged. Rossi suppressed the urge to roll his eyes, because surely they could make plans without him, and shrugged in turn.

“Not really,” he said, “I figured I’d rope you into going hunting with me,” he nodded at Leroy, “but otherwise I guess we’ll just go with it.”

Leroy eagerly seconded the suggestion to go hunting and also made a large number of other suggestions for what activities you could do out here, most of which were rather silly, and for a while the conversation stayed there; then it drifted off into other areas and for once Rossi was a bit grateful for Leroy’s innate ability to talk about absolutely everything because at least that ensured there were no awkward stretches of silence.

When the meal was over a large apple pie was produced and served and when it too was finished the clock was nearing half past eleven and Rossi decided that it was bedtime at least for his two injured companions. Reid, who already looked absolutely exhausted and had been fighting yawns for the last half hour, agreed immediately and Hotch only needed a glance before he too conceded. They were shown to their bedrooms by Jo, who took the opportunity to check on their injuries, while the rest of the team helped with the dishes.

By midnight pretty much all of them were exhausted and seemed to be content just washing up and creeping into the beds they’d been allotted. Rossi too was tired, and wouldn’t really have minded going to bed, but when Leroy appeared from nowhere with two glasses of whiskey he decided that sleeping could wait a few hours yet.


	2. Chapter 2

_He can’t breathe. Can’t move. Paralyzed either by fear or by the warm and heavy weight pressed against him._

_The feral grin on the face above him coming closer and closer. The stale breath of the man hitting his face and assaulting his senses. A hazy thought about the obsessive cleanliness of some killers._

_And then the first stab wound comes, and he has to bite his lip from screaming in pain. And the man above him only smiles, the hateful face of The Reaper invading his personal space and his smirking mouth so close to his that they’re almost kissing._

_There’s a second wound. And a third._

_And all the time there is pain. So much pain, and he is pretty sure that his teeth have drawn blood from his lips and he can’t help but wish that he will just pass out._

_But he doesn’t. Never does. He can’t stop it; he’s just lying there and Foyet is over him smiling and humming and he can do nothing but stare up at the thin face and helplessly wait for the next stab of the knife._

_Foyet leans even closer, and by now his nose really is touching his own, and his eyes are gleaming with an insane sparkle and his yellowed teeth are exposed in a grin and his hands are on his arms but that isn’t right because Foyet is holding the knife and his hands aren’t on Hotch’s arm and he isn’t shaking him and with a gasp Hotch sits up straight._

It was Rossi, his concerned face hovering a couple of feet away and his hands on Hotch’s upper arms.

“Aaron!?” he was saying firmly, “Aaron, wake up!”

For a moment Hotch was too disoriented and too frightened to do anything but stare at Rossi, his eyes widened and his whole body tensed in preparation for fight, but soon Rossi’s warm hands on his arms registered and he realized that Rossi was speaking soothingly, obviously trying to get him to calm down.

“Shh…” the older man said gently, “Calm down, Aaron. Take a deep breath. You’re safe, everything’s fine. Just breathe. Shh… That’s good. Just breathe. Good.”

Hotch obeyed, trying to breathe as he was instructed and looking into Rossi’s kind eyes as the man smiled encouragingly and rubbed his arms and shoulders. And slowly his heartbeat slowed down, his breathing lost its desperate, hitched note and he could almost shake off the feeling of still being in Foyet’s clutches.

Maybe sensing the change in Hotch, Rossi pulled him into a light hug, maybe wary of making Hotch feel restrained in any way and Hotch had to admit he was grateful for it. Hotch was still too rattled to think of protesting, and just accepted the comfort gratefully. Because there was something very safe and familiar about Rossi’s hand stroking his hair and the man’s normally gruff voice mumbling gentle and calming words.

After allowing himself time to regain his calm, helped along by the familiar warmth of Rossi’s embrace, he pulled back and offered the older man a tired smile.

“Foyet?” Rossi asked simply. Hotch nodded, swiping a hand over his eyes in a vain attempt to get rid of the images that still haunted him.

“I should be used to it, I guess,” he said quietly, “but I just…”

Rossi shushed him impatiently. “How could you?” he demanded, “Traumas don’t just go away. You know that.”

Knowing that Rossi was right, really, Hotch nodded, but without conviction. He couldn’t help feeling that he should be past what had happened, because what good was he to the team when he couldn’t even sleep at night? His recent behavior had shown that he couldn’t be a good team leader with this emotional baggage, and he _needed_ to be a good leader.

He looked away from Rossi. “It’s been six weeks, Dave,” he said. And five of which he had spent doing nothing but trying to process the trauma, which should be enough for him to at least function.

Apparently, Rossi didn't agree, if the sudden rather rough grip on his chin was anything to go by; his face turned sharply to look into the now annoyed eyes of Rossi. “Do I need to smack you?” he snapped, his voice still low as to not disturb the others in the house, “You nearly _died_ , Aaron Hotchner.”

Hotch couldn’t help but blush at the sudden use of his full name, a clear sign that Rossi was seriously annoyed with him, and he closed his eyes in an attempt to escape Rossi’s disapproval. “Dave…” he pleaded, “I _need_ to be okay.”

He knew Rossi would understand his vague plea but he doubted whether the man would agree with him. Rossi didn’t understand how important it was for him to be in complete control, that he couldn’t just lay back and hope that things would be all right sometime in the future, that things needed to be all right _now_. The older man just insisted that Hotch had to let things take their time, that healing was a process and that he shouldn’t stress it.

“You will be,” Rossi assured him, “I promise you, you will be.”

Shaking his head again, Hotch bit his lip to keep from snapping and the older man and took a deep breath before speaking. “But when?”

“I don’t know. We’ll get Foyet, you’ll heal physically, you’ll get your family back and then we’ll just take things from there.”

“That’s not good enough,” Hotch said with a frown and even though he wanted to believe that his voice came out the decisive and firm statement he wanted it to be he suspected that it was closer to whining. He wanted Rossi to agree with him and help him pretend everything was all right. The man had seemed prepared to do that for a while after he had reluctantly allowed Hotch to get back to work, but then Hotch had messed up and now they’d gone back to the whole coddling thing.

“Well, it’ll have to be,” Rossi replied firmly, “I’m not letting you pretend nothing happened. I’m not letting you just bury this.”

Hotch half wanted to be angry with Rossi for his unasked for interference, wanted to rage that he had no right to command what Hotch did. But mostly he wanted to believe that Rossi had a point and that he was going to make things all right, because he was tired and the month he had spent at Rossi’s place not pretending to be okay at least hadn’t been exhausting. So maybe it was all right to not be okay for a while longer.

“Do I have a choice?” he asked anyways, because giving in too easily wouldn’t do. Rossi smirked.

“None at all,” he said, “You’re too important.”

Unable to contain the small pleased smile that appeared on his face, Hotch blushed slightly as he averted his gaze. He never quite got used to being complimented by the older man.

“You okay to go back to sleep now?” Rossi asked after a moment’s silence. Hotch nodded, lying back down, as a thought struck him.

“Did I wake you?” he asked, slightly apologetic, because even though he knew that part of the reason Rossi insisted to share a room with him was in case he had nightmares he couldn’t help but feel guilty about interrupting the man’s sleep.

“Nah, I just got up here. I was talking to Alex.”

“Oh…”

Hotch knew that he shouldn’t feel the small pang of irritation that he did at this, but he just couldn’t help being slightly bitter at being sent to bed like a child while Rossi stayed up talking to Leroy.

“We thought we’d go hunting the day after tomorrow,” Rossi said, “or, well, it’s just tomorrow now, I guess. Wanna come?”

Being too busy trying to suppress the feeling of irritation, Hotch took a while to register the question. When he did, he was a bit surprised. Partly because Rossi was still all fussy over his injuries and partly because hunting was something the two older men usually did alone, because even though Hotch had been invited and gone along a couple of times, he somehow knew that it was a sort of bonding thing between the two of them.

“Am I allowed?” he asked without first reflecting on his wording, which he regretted as soon as he realized what he’d said. “I mean… I’m injured and, well… you sure you don’t want to do it alone?”

Rossi shook his head. “Sure I’m sure,” he said, “I wouldn’t ask otherwise, would I?”

With a small smile, Hotch nodded in concession of the point. “Well, I don’t think so, anyway,” he said, “Hunting’s never been my thing.”

For a moment Rossi considered the statement, the he nodded. “I guess not,” he said, “Go to sleep now.”

Hotch obediently closed his eyes after muttering a “good night” and listened as the older man quickly got ready for bed as quietly as possible. Already drifting off into deep sleep, he still couldn’t help the small smile that appeared on his lips as Rossi distractedly ruffled his hair as he passed his bed on the way to his own. Old habits died hard, he supposed.

 

* * *

 

Hotch woke up early the next morning, just a little past seven, and as he stretched luxuriously and rolled over in his bed he noticed that Rossi was still fast asleep. In all probability, so were most of the others in the house and Hotch briefly considered remaining in bed for a while. But old habit stopped him from that and instead he got up from the bed, still stretching his body in an attempt to work out some of the stiffness from the long car ride yesterday.

Then he washed and dressed, foregoing his usual suits since it was vacation and going for jeans and a sweatshirt instead, trying to be quiet as to not wake Rossi up. He didn’t succeed; when he looked up from tying his shoelaces he found Rossi squinting at him, still half asleep.

“Hotch?” he mumbled in greeting, “’Time is it?”

“A little after seven. No point in getting up.”

To be honest Rossi hadn’t seemed particularly inclined to get up even before his statement, and the older man just nodded tiredly and rolled over again, going back to sleep. Hotch suppressed a smile before finishing tying his shoes and got up to head downstairs, his stomach beginning to remind him that it was time for breakfast.

There were only two people up, or at least there were only two people in the kitchen; Jo and, somewhat surprisingly, Garcia. The two women were happily chatting and eating breakfast, and both looked up and greeted him with twin enthusiastic smiles as he entered.

“Good morning,” Jo said happily, “Take a seat, honey.”

Hotch obeyed, vaguely embarrassed at the term of endearment used in front of Garcia, but then he reminded himself that Garcia was the one who called people ‘chocolate god’ and ‘hot stuff’ on a regular basis. A motherly ‘honey’ was tame in relation.

“Good morning, sir,” Garcia echoed Jo’s greeting, “Hotch.”

The last was added as she apparently remembered his request that she call him Hotch at least out of the office.

“Good morning,” he said in turn, giving a small smile that he suspected measured up poorly against Garcia’s brilliant one.

“What do you want for breakfast?” Jo asked, rising from her chair to get to the kitchen. Hotch interrupted her with a hand motion, he too half rising.

“You don’t have to…” he began but was cut off by Jo.

“I know. I want to. Cereal?”

Hotch nodded, giving Jo a grateful smile, although he really wasn’t entirely sure whether he was completely pleased at being fussed over in front of Garcia. Because as much as he loved Jo, the need to always be strong and in control somewhat overrode that and the vulnerability it showed to be mothered like this was uncomfortable in front of Garcia. Of course, Garcia might simply interpret the fussing as Jo being a gracious hostess.

After another moment of looking after Jo, Hotch turned to Garcia. “Sleep well?” he asked politely. She nodded enthusiastically over her cup of coffee.

“Oh, yes!” she said, “It’s so quiet out here.”

Nodding in agreement, Hotch lapsed into silence for a moment again; unsure how to continue. Not only was Garcia not his most frequent companion normally, and since his ill-considered bout of shouting at her he felt a bit ill-at-ease around her. He imagined it would pass, since Garcia obviously wasn’t angry with him, but right now being alone with her was slightly awkward.

Fortunately, it wasn’t long before Jo rejoined them, carrying a tray with his breakfast; a bowl of cereal, rye bread, coffee and orange juice. He smiled gratefully at her.

“Thanks. I don’t have time to eat a proper breakfast as often as I’d like to.”

Jo smiled kindly. “Well, maybe tomorrow we can drag Alex out of bed early enough to get us a proper cooked breakfast.”

Hotch was about to express his approval and gratitude for the idea, and probably make a comment about the unlikelihood of getting Leroy out of bed early for something so mundane as breakfast, but he was interrupted by Jo’s phone ringing. The small woman made an annoyed face as she fished the phone out of her pocket and as she read the display her expression changed to exasperated. She excused herself with a gesture and went to the kitchen to take the call. Hotch only caught parts of the brief conversation; too little to guess what it was about.

After she ended the call, Jo joined them again, shaking her head slowly. “That was one of our neighbors,” she explained, “She’s a bit of a hypochondriac, but this time I think it might actually be something so I’m going over there. Let Alex know, will you?”

Before he had time to answer properly, Jo was out the door and pulling on a coat. Hotch went back to his breakfast, used to Jo dashing off to honor her Hippocratic oath, but as he caught Garcia’s small frown he realized that she probably had no idea about Jo’s occupation.

“She’s a doctor,” he said. Garcia’s expression changed to understanding and she nodded before they went back to silence; a bit strained, but not overly much.

“Sir?” Garcia suddenly blurted out and Hotch looked up from his food to gaze curiously at her. “Are you okay?”

A bit taken aback at the sudden and very sincere question, Hotch frowned slightly as he hesitated. “What do you mean?”

Garcia looked a bit uncomfortable, but even more determined and she continued without hesitation.

“After… Foyet. Are you okay?”

Hotch half wanted to assure her that yes, of course he perfectly okay, wanted to tell her that he was completely past Foyet. But he couldn’t; partly because she probably already knew that he wasn’t, because he knew he hadn’t hid it as well as he’d hoped, and partly because it was very difficult to lie when she looked so sincere and honestly worried.

“I will be,” he said instead.

Garcia looked doubtful for a moment, as if she wasn’t entirely sure that he wasn’t just telling himself that, and before she had time to express her doubt, Hotch repeated himself firmly.

“I will be, Penelope. Trust me.”

The doubtful look on her face remained and for a moment Hotch was about to once again repeat his assurance to stall off whatever she was about to say, but then he decided to hear her out.

“I hope so, sir,” she said hurriedly, as if she was rushing to get the words out, “I really do. But… well, it’s just that we’re all affected when you’re not okay, or when anyone is, really, and I just wish you’d let us help you.”

The expression on Garcia’s face was apologetic, and almost a bit apprehensive, and for a moment Hotch wondered if he really was intimidating to his teammates. But most of all, Garcia looked concerned and Hotch felt a stab of guilt. He knew that Garcia’s way of coping, and helping them cope, with one of the team being hurt was to coddle and be close and be even more Garcia-ish than normally, but he made that impossible for her out of mostly selfish reasons. He’d always had trouble letting people see him as anything but perfectly in control, and even more trouble letting them take care of him, and Rossi was the only one to habitually break that barrier.

“I…” he began, hesitantly, because he really didn’t know what to say, “I know the team is affected. I know you want to help and you _are_. As much as I can let you.”

It was at least honest, as far as it went. He wasn’t about to give her an analysis of his need to appear strong, he wasn’t even going to admit that he felt such a need, and in lieu of such an admission this was as much of an explanation as he could offer. Garcia didn’t seem able to completely let go of her concerns, but it wasn’t as if he had really expected that and instead of more words he offered her a rare, entirely genuinely smile. Because even though it made him a little uncomfortable, he appreciated her concern.

And that reminded him of his still lingering guilt over the events a few days ago.

“Garcia…” he began, sincerely, “I want to apologize again. I want you to know that I fully understand if you are still angry with me.”

“Because denying emotions is death to any kind of relationship,” Garcia half broke him off with a smile and then added as explanation; “That’s what Rossi said.”

“Sounds like him,” Hotch agreed, his lips involuntarily quirking into a small smile as well.

“Well, I totally forgive you, sir,” Garcia said, “I don’t like being angry and I know how hard things have been on you and well… you got punished.”

Hotch felt a touch of heat in his cheeks at this reminder that the team knew of Rossi’s handling of him, especially that they had probably even heard what had transpired in his office after his refusal to do as he was told. He nodded, hoping that Garcia would take his silence as a hint to drop the subject, because he really didn’t want to discuss this with her. She did, luckily, and Hotch gratefully accepted her change of subject; happily chatting about some comic that Hotch, feeling a bit old, had no idea about and the conversation kept going smoothly, staying clear of awkward topics such as Rossi spanking Hotch. Soon enough they were joined by the others, one by one, and before he quite knew what had happened Hotch had been dragged outside to play soccer.


	3. Chapter 3

He really should look into early retirement options, Morgan reflected, if this was what retirement was like. Spending all day doing nothing but hanging out with friends, eating good food and just lazing around. It was a far cry from the constant pressure of the BAU and already after a day Morgan was feeling some of the ever-present tension melt away.

On the other hand, the lack of activity probably got boring after a while and he couldn’t help but wonder if this was what Leroy did all the time or if the leisurely pace was for their benefit.

He hadn’t felt comfortable asking the question earlier in the day, still a bit wary of the Frenchman. Not scared or nervous, just… uncomfortable. Because suddenly letting a stranger get so close was weird, even if it was Rossi’s friend.

Now though, as the clock was nearing half past one and they were all seated around the dinner table enjoying some after-lunch coffee, and there was a gap in the conversation, Morgan decided that he might as well ask the question.

“So…” he began, addressing Leroy, “Is this what you do all the time? Just… chilling?”

The older man tilted his head slightly, in a way that reminded Morgan of Rossi. “Not at all,” he said, “I occasionally do assassinations when I get bored.”

It took Morgan a moment to realize what the man was saying and then another to realize that he was joking. Mostly because the answer was so completely deadpan that it would do Hotch credit.

Jo gave her husband a censuring glare. “Don’t scare the kids.”

Leroy smirked, but inclined his head. “I do some consulting for various law enforcement agencies and, well… some other stuff as well.”

Morgan nodded, half inclined to ask what this ‘other stuff’ was, but decided against it. It probably wasn’t anything too interesting and if it was he was pretty sure he didn’t want to know about it.

“So, kids…” Rossi broke in at that, “Assuming we aren’t gonna assassinate anyone, you up for poker after this?”

Prentiss raised her eyebrows, clearly a bit skeptical, and shook her head. “You can’t play poker in the middle of the day.”

“Monopoly?” Reid suggested, surprising them all with the sudden exclamation but even more by the bright expression on his face. The kid obviously really wanted to play Monopoly, and Morgan had to smile. Sometimes Reid really was a kid. There were glances between all of them; first Rossi to Leroy, then Rossi to Hotch, a silent request for Hotch’s agreement, and then a quick glance from Rossi to the rest of the team.

“All right,” Rossi then announced, after he’d gotten the silent approval of everyone, “Monopoly it is.”

It was still a bit strange to hear Rossi giving the orders instead of Hotch, but Morgan supposed that Hotch needed the break of not being in charge, needed to get away from the pressure of the job just as much as the rest of them. More, probably, and that wouldn’t be possible if he didn’t relinquish some of the responsibility for the team.

“We should team up,” Garcia said and she sounded nearly as enthusiastic as Reid. “I call dibs on my chocolate knight.”

Leroy raised an eyebrow, obviously still not used to her nicknames, but accepted it without comment. “I’m with Jo, then.”

“Hotch?” Rossi asked and the man nodded in reply with a small smile. “Anyone wants to play alone or do we get one team of three?”

Reid immediately claimed the right to play alone, apparently taking this whole thing very seriously, and JJ and Prentiss teamed up with twin devious smiles. Knowing from experience that all of the team could be pretty competitive, Morgan realized with some trepidation that he would probably be stuck buying streets and hotels for the rest of the afternoon.

 

* * *

 

He was, it turned out, and he was beginning to get seriously bored as the clock was drawing near five o’clock, because, quite frankly, endless exchanges of fake money could only be amusing for so long. Reid was the only one who didn’t seem the slightest bit tired or the game; his eyes were still trained intently on the board and his mouth was moving quickly, vocalizing his thoughts.

The third time Rossi and Hotch ended up on Reid’s Park Place, complete with hotel, and had to pay him money they didn’t have, they exchanged a glance and before Reid had time to give them a calculation on what streets he should be given instead, based on the price of it, the mortgage and analysis of the probable further incomes from it, Rossi interrupted him.

“I think we’re all pretty done with Monopoly for the day,” he said and a wave of relief swept over the entire room; except Reid, who instead began to pout in a way that would have been cute if it wasn’t for the fact that Morgan was bored sick of the game.

“But we haven’t finished,” Reid complained, a definite whine to his voice.

“We have now,” Hotch said firmly, apparently not in the mood for an argument. Not that he ever really was. Reid’s pout remained and he furrowed his brow in a mix between disappointment and annoyance.

“But no-one has won.”

“Kid,” Morgan broke in, “I think we all know you’re the only one with any chance of winning. Let’s just leave it.”

Reid’s displeased expression remained and Morgan thought he would continue arguing, but Rossi forestalled him. “Reid, quit it,” he ordered, “We should start preparing dinner soon anyways.”

 For a moment it looked as if Reid wouldn’t heed the obvious warning, but after a moment he relented; hanging his head and as always obscuring his face with the long hair.

“I’ll just pack away here, then,” he said, obviously not entirely happy but the note of sulkiness had left his voice.

“I’ll help,” Morgan volunteered. Prentiss raised an eyebrow at him, a smirk on her face.

“You just want to get out of cooking,” she teased. Morgan raised a hand to his chest in mock hurt, trying to act affronted and shocked but the small smile that refused to leave his lips alone made that difficult.

“I’ll have you know I’m an amazing cook,” he said.

“You do realize takeaway doesn’t count as cooking?”

To Morgan’s surprise, it was Hotch how delivered the jibe, in his usual even tone which only strengthened the sarcastic impact. Rossi laughed out loud and patted Hotch’s shoulder encouragingly on his way from the room.

“He’s got you there,” Prentiss said with an amused smile before she too departed; to avoid his witty comeback, Morgan wanted to think. The rest of the team left as well until it was only he and Reid left, the younger man carefully and meticulously putting away the game. Morgan moved to help him, beginning to assemble the money. Reid interrupted him by hitting him on the hand.

“Hey!”Morgan protested indignantly. “You don’t want help you only have to say so!”

Reid mouth tightened and he glared at Morgan. “You have to sort the money,” he said exasperatedly, as if Morgan was an idiot not to have realized this. Morgan rolled his eyes but complied, figuring that as long as it made the kid happy it was worth it.

 

* * *

 

Four hours later they had eaten, drunk coffee and retired to the living room, watching Leroy light up the fire and trying to find something to do.

“We could play Monopoly again,” Reid suggested innocently, but the smile playing on his lips made Morgan suspect that he was just teasing them. But he wasn’t going to take any chances.

“Nuh-uh!” he asserted firmly, “No. Just no, kid.”

Fortunately the rest of them seemed to agree with him. Reid didn’t seem too disappointed, which strengthened the theory that he’d just been teasing.

“Cards?” Rossi suggested. That suggestion as well was met by general un-enthusiasm and for a moment everyone was silent. Not entirely surprisingly, it was Reid who broke it.

“You could tell us about the Family of Satan case,” he said to Rossi and Leroy, who immediately exchanged an uncomfortable glance. Morgan had to admit that his curiosity was piqued; he’d heard about the case but only as mentioned in passing and all he really knew was that it had been one of the instigating cases in disproving satanic killer cults and that Rossi had worked it before he started the BAU. With Leroy, he now assumed.

“It’s not something we like to talk about,” Rossi said slowly.

“Like Ruby Ridge?” Reid asked and Morgan hid a grimace at the kid’s insensitivity. He knew Reid didn’t mean to be so inconsiderate, but it was pretty obvious to anyone that Rossi would rather dress in a pink dress than talk about some of the cases he’d worked.

“Worse,” Leroy replied and exchanged another glance with Rossi, who shrugged and averted his eyes; studying the fire with keen interest.

Morgan wouldn’t have needed to be a profiler to notice the flash of pain that crossed Rossi’s face or the strain in Leroy’s voice. Apparently, they _really_ didn’t like talking about it and fortunately everyone got the point and didn’t push any further.

Unfortunately, that caused a sudden void in the conversation as no-one quite knew how to continue.

“Why don’t you tell them about something nice instead?” Jo broke the silence after a moment, to everyone’s relief, “You have plenty of interesting stories to pass onto the younger generation.”

Morgan noticed what could only be called a mischievous smile creeping up onto Hotch’s face, and he almost leant forward slightly waiting for what his boss would say.

“Yes, Uncle Alex,” Hotch drawled, “Tell us a story, please.”

Rossi and Jo both smiled at this surprising levity from the normally stoic and reserved unit chief; not as shocked as the rest of the team who were exchanging somewhat incredulous glances. Had Hotch just called this man ‘uncle’? Deciding that he wasn’t imagining things and deciding, from Hotch’s bone-dry, lazy tone, that the older man was joking Morgan gave into his impulse to chuckle. 

Leroy narrowed his eyes and glared at Hotch. “Watch it or the story I tell will be how I cut the tongue off of this insolent FBI agent.”

Hotch only smirked at that, leaning back in the sofa lazily and grinning at Leroy in a way that, if it had been anyone other than his boss, Morgan would have called cheeky.

“Federal offense,” Hotch said simply.

“Only if I leave witnesses.”

“Technically,” Reid spoke up at that, his tone indicating that one of his ramblings was coming, “it’s a federal offense even if no-one even sees it. The legal status of an action isn’t dependent on the evidence until such a time that it is ruled in court that the act committed isn’t illegal.”

The kid looked as if he had more to say, but he seemed to realize that his rambling was inappropriate for the conversation at hand, and broke off, giving one of his apologetic half-smiles. Leroy and Jo looked a bit flustered at this sudden stream of completely irrelevant information, obviously still unused to Reid, but soon recovered and Leroy put on an expression of mock hurt.

“That’s right,” he said, “Pick on the foreigner.”

“You’re a citizen,” Rossi told him with an innocent expression and a shrug. Jo snorted.

“Only because France didn’t want him anymore.”

Leroy leveled another narrowed-eyed glare at Hotch. “You’ve turned my own wife against me,” he complained and before he had time to mask it a brief look of hurt crossed Hotch’s face.

Probably realizing that the subject of wives was dangerous territory, Jo rose with a small smile.

“It isn’t his fault he’s prettier,” she teased, patting Leroy’s cheek on her way out from the room, “I’ll get us some tea.”

Hotch shot Leroy a satisfied smirk but then seemed to realize that his team had watched the exchange and his customary frown returned to his face. He studied the team for a moment, looking as if he was considering whether he should say something, but then he seemed to decide not to and turned back to Leroy.

“But seriously,” he said, and Morgan almost regretted that Hotch had realized they were here and felt the need to abandon his teasing attitude, “I think we would all be interested in hearing about some of your former exploits.”

Rossi and Leroy looked at each other for a moment.

“A case, right?” Rossi then asked the team. They all nodded.

“The Seattle alley-killer?” Leroy suggested. Rossi considered for a moment, then nodded. Leroy moistened his lips with the tip of his tongue before he began, his voice taking on a lecturing tone. “So, this was the fall of ’83 and the Bureau’s help was requested on a case in Texas because the local authorities felt that they were a bit out of their league.”

Morgan had to suppress a smile at how Reid looked as the man continued; completely captivated by the account as if he most of all wanted to take notes. Not that he needed to. The rest of the team, though, were also soon enthralled by the account, because both Leroy and Rossi turned out to be good, if somewhat overdramatic, story tellers.

And Morgan had to admit, with some embarrassment, that he too soon found himself eagerly following the account.

 

* * *

 

It took Rossi and Leroy longer than it should have to finish their account, mostly because they interrupted each other to argue some point or because Reid interrupted with an eager question, but Morgan didn’t really mind; the case the two had chosen to relate was interesting and although it made him feel a little like Reid, Morgan realized that by the end of it, he wasn’t all that adverse to repeating the experience some time.

Reid, it seemed, felt the same way and also felt that ‘some time’ should be right now, if his puppy-eyed, adoring look at the two older men was anything to go by.

“Can’t you tell us of another case?” he asked, “You worked on the Queensbury Strangler in 1985, didn’t you?”

Rossi chuckled, but shook his head. “Sorry, kid. It’s past your bedtime.”

The kid’s brow furrowed, probably in irritation. “No, it’s not,” he protested, glaring at Rossi who just smirked.

“It’s not,” Reid insisted, seemingly oblivious to the fact that Rossi was just teasing him. Possibly because the kid was used to being sent to bed.

“He’s just teasing you, Spence,” JJ said, as always coming to Reid’ rescue when she thought he wouldn’t react well to the being teased. Reid’s pout remained for a moment, but then he shrugged and turned to Leroy instead of Rossi, trying his luck with someone who’d had less time to become immune to his pleading look.

“Please?”

Leroy tilted his head and smiled sympathetically, glancing at Rossi and receiving a shake of the head in reply. “Sorry,” he then said, “Maybe later, okay?”

Reid nodded, looking a bit martyr-like, and raised a hand to tuck a stray strand of hair behind his ear. “What should we do then?”

“Oh, I know!” Garcia suddenly exclaimed, “Movie night!”

Everyone seemed comfortably lazy enough to accept this suggestion instead of going with something more active and as Leroy and Rossi cleaned away the tea cups, Reid and Garcia eagerly began to look through the Leroys’ collection of movies with occasional input from the rest of the team.

“Did you guys know that the rain in “Singin’ in the Rain” is actually milk, since water didn’t show on camera?” Reid said, holding up the mentioned movie. Morgan chuckled.

“No kid, I didn’t,” he said. Reid seemed oblivious to his amusement and just continued sorting through the movies and Morgan was beginning to fear what they could come up with. He just hoped that the Leroys didn’t have any geeky sci-fi movies.

“Oh!” Garcia excitedly said after a while, “This one’s great! _V for Vendetta_. I vote for it!”

Jo frowned slightly, and held out her hand for the movie, studying it for a moment. “We haven’t actually seen this one,” she said, “Alex bought it because he liked the idea of a dystopian Britain. And because he liked the design of the cover.”

“Well, I’ve seen it,” Prentiss said, “It’s good. I’m for it.”

JJ just nodded and Morgan shrugged. “Okay, works for me. Hotch?”

The older man accepted the movie from Jo and skimmed the text on the back of it, his brow furrowed in almost as deep concentration as when he was reading reports. “All right,” he said after finishing, “I’m in. Dave, Alex?”

The last part was louder, reaching to the kitchen where the two men were stilled holed up. At the call of his name, Rossi joined them; hovering in the doorway with an inquiring expression.

“Yes?”

“We’re watching a movie,” Hotch announced, “ _V for Vendetta_. Is that all right with you?”

He held up the movie for inspection and after a brief look at it, Rossi shrugged. “Sure. Do you want popcorn or ice cream?”

Morgan got the distinct impression that the man was only humoring them, not really caring at all what movie they watched or even if they watched a movie at all, just intent on letting them have fun. And apparently that included snacks, despite the fact that they had already had a massive dinner, coffee and tea with biscuits.

It was decided on ice cream, by Leroy mostly, and soon they were all positioned around the TV with bowls of stracciatella ice cream in their hands.

The movie turned out to be good, although Morgan couldn’t quite muster up the same amount of enthusiasm Garcia apparently felt. To begin with Reid had treated them to random tidbits of information on what the movie brought up, but soon he stopped doing that. It wasn’t until already half through the film that Morgan threw a look at him and realized that it was because he had fallen asleep, head resting on Prentiss’s shoulder.

Morgan was really tempted to tease them both, but apparently his intention showed on his face because he was given a warning glare by Hotch. And since Morgan wasn’t stupid enough to challenge Hotch on something concerning Reid, he held his tongue. Sort of.

“Nice, big sis’” he mouthed at Prentiss, who blushed slightly and glared at him.

“Shut up,” she mouthed back and Morgan was given a punch on the arm by Garcia, who apparently wasn’t caught up in the movie enough to miss someone threatening her baby genius.

Knowing when he was beaten, and not really having any desire to disturb Reid from his peaceful slumber, Morgan leant back deeper into the couch and turned his attention to the movie.


	4. Chapter 4

Reid was bored. Really bored. Really, really bored. The big house was empty except for him, Hotch and Morgan and both the older men were in their respective rooms, resting or listening to music or whatever. They weren’t entertaining Reid, anyway.

He knew that he, in a way, had himself to blame for his boredom; the women had offered to take him along on their shopping trip, but he had declined because the idea of being dragged around stores by four enthusiastic women all day had seemed very unappealing. Rossi and Leroy had left before anyone else had woken up, and the only option left had been remaining at the house.

And it really shouldn’t have been this boring; there were plenty of books, some movies, card decks and various other things that should be able to entertain Reid. But they didn’t, and as soon as his mind got the slightest time to itself it infallibly went to the pain in his leg.

He needed something to distract him.

He had considered all of the books, including several books that would normally have kept him occupied for at least an hour. He had looked through some of the movies, but watching a movie alone was unappealing. He had proofread one of Rossi’s manuscripts for part of a book that probably wouldn’t happen for at least a decade, but that had only taken a few minutes. He had even taken advantage of the rather awful internet connection and checked out some blogs.

But none of these things managed to capture his interest for very long, and even though it made him a bit embarrassed that his attention span was that of a three year old at the moment, he realized that his boredom was growing intolerable after only half an hour. How was he supposed to handle the several hours until the team got back?

It would be unfair to disturb Hotch or Morgan. It war their vacation as well and if they had went to their rooms to be alone he shouldn’t come barging in on them.

In a final attempt to stave off boredom, Reid tried to analyze why he was so incapable of entertaining himself. The only thing he could think of as a reason was the pain, which wasn’t even very bad anymore, and that didn’t really explain it sufficiently.

But no matter the reason, the inescapable fact that he was _bored_ remained. He tried to remember the things Gideon had told him he should do when things were becoming too difficult to handle for some reason. Read, play chess, watch television had already been dismissed. Talking to someone… also impossible. He supposed that technically he could call Gideon. But the older man had said that he would be using the time the team was away to do some quiet travelling of his own, and Reid didn’t want to disturb him.

What was left was physical activity, and after a brief moment of consideration Reid decided that going for a walk might actually be a good idea. Normally he wasn’t that big a fan of the whole communing with nature thing, but it would be better than sitting holed up in this house and, like Gideon had pointed out, the physical activity would help distract him.

Decision made, Reid headed out for what he hoped would be a refreshing walk.

 

* * *

 

Morgan almost fell off the bed out of surprise when Hotch roughly yanked open his door and entered, his face set in an angry expression, crossing his arms disapprovingly and glaring at Morgan.

“Where is Reid?” he demanded, voice hard. Morgan just looked at him in shock for a moment, brow furrowed, as he tried to work out what the man was talking about.

“Downstairs?” he offered hesitantly, wanting to know what this was about, “What’s up?”

Hotch’s mouth tightened and his frown deepened. “He’s not downstairs,” he said evenly, although Morgan could hear the effort it took to make it so, “He’s not anywhere. You haven’t seen him?”

Now Morgan understood the strain showing clearly on his boss’s face and he got up from the bed, putting away his iPod. “No,” he said, “Not since we both left him downstairs.”

The older man shook his head, not in denial as much as protest against this fact, and his fingers tightened around his arm. He was pacing and Morgan couldn’t help but think that he was unwarrantedly agitated over the small disappearance, because it hadn’t even been an hour, but he supposed that maybe if he was missing his wife and son he’d have some trouble dealing with people being missing as well.

“Hotch, man,” he said, trying to sound somewhat soothing without being dismissive of the situation, “He’s probably just taken a walk or something.”

 “He hasn’t got his coat with him,” Hotch began in an almost emotionless voice, “And it’s going to start raining pretty soon. If he has gone for a walk someone should go after him.”

“Why don’t you just call him?” Morgan suggested and was met by such a withering glare that he almost took a step back. 

“His phone is still on the table.”

They were silent for a while, both probably trying to figure out the appropriate course of action, and Morgan had to admit to himself that even though the rational part of his mind knew Reid probably wasn’t in any danger the emotional one didn’t want to listen and several bloody images flashed past before he could get any semblance of control over them. He imagined Hotch was experiencing pretty much the same thing, if his strained look was anything to go by, and suddenly the older man stopped his pacing and curtly turned to Morgan.

“I’m going out looking for him,” he announced and the determination in his tone and the suddenness of it had Morgan too flustered to speak for a moment and when he was ready to articulate his protests Hotch was already down the stairs and out the door.

“Hotch!” he yelled after him, “You can’t just go out there like that! We should call Rossi or something!”

His boss ignored him completely and again Morgan was too stunned to speak for a moment.

“Hotch!” he then repeated and to his annoyance his voice came out a bit too shrill to be especially commanding. The other man simply ignored him again and before Morgan had time to run after him, Hotch was out of sight behind the trees. Morgan debated whether he should follow or not; on one hand Hotch really shouldn’t be traipsing off into the forest still injured, badly dressed for it and a storm on its way, but on the other hand he didn’t really think he stood much chance of stopping Hotch short of using physical force and even then it was a stretch.

At last he settled on straying behind and calling Rossi, because they had a car and knew the area.

He had to admit that he wasn’t looking forward to making the call, because he had a feeling that Rossi had very little regard for the old advice not to kill the messenger.

 

* * *

 

A little more than an hour after he had started his walk, Reid was beginning to regret it. He was cold. His knee hurt. His hands and arms hurt after using the crutches. And it was beginning to rain. Why on Earth taking a walk in a forest when he was hurt had ever seemed like a good idea was beyond him by now and he had decided to turn home ten minutes ago or so, just as he began to feel the first light drizzle.

He was fairly certain he knew the way; an eidetic memory was helpful in memorizing paths through the woods, and it wasn’t that far, since most of his walk had been around the small lake. There had seemed to be no obstacles to getting back to the house and into a hot bath within twenty minutes or so.

Then the rain _really_ started, and Reid was drenched within minutes. And just as he was debating whether he should continue or find some sort of cover, another obstacle appeared. Namely, a very annoyed Hotch.

Before Reid had time to explain, or ask what Hotch was doing there or what they should do now, his arm was snagged in a firm grip and three hard swats were delivered to his backside.

“You better have a very good explanation for this, Reid,” Hotch warned him sternly and Reid fought the urge to squirm as he averted his gaze from the older man’s severe face. When he didn’t say anything, Hotch prompted him again. “Well?”

“Uh…” Reid began slowly, trying to figure out a good way of explaining things without lying, but he was interrupted by a sudden rumble of thunder. “Maybe we should get back first?”

For a moment Hotch didn’t look as if he would agree, but then another loud rumble could be heard and he grimaced slightly. “It’s better if we find some sort of shelter.”

He didn’t wait for Reid’s agreement; just impatiently gestured for him to follow him to a low fir tree with thick enough shrubbery that sitting under it at least wouldn’t be like taking a shower. With gentleness completely unsuited to his still forbidding expression, Hotch helped Reid maneuver himself into a sitting position, leaning against the trunk, before taking a seat next to him. Very closely, Reid might add, and when he put an arm around Reid’s shoulder he looked questioningly at him.

“Sharing body heat to keep warm,” Hotch explained. Reid stayed rigid for a moment, considering this, before he decided that if it was for such a practical thing like staying warm it had to be okay and leant a bit closer to Hotch. He stayed silent a while longer, his mind reeling with thoughts; a quick review of the function of how fast body heat dropped, a recitation of the facts on rain storms, the average age of an American tree. But his mind kept returning to the swats Hotch had given him and the fact that his boss probably didn’t think that was sufficient punishment.

“I’m in trouble, aren’t I?” he asked. Hotch snorted, though it was almost a chuckle.

“Yes,” he said, “But if it’s any consolation, I probably am as well.”

Reid’s eyes widened slightly as he took this in. He hadn’t considered it, but he supposed that it had to be true; if he was in trouble for going out alone and hurt, Hotch probably would be for doing the same. But it was still strange to think of his boss as being in trouble. He knew Hotch made mistakes; he wasn’t like Jack who thought his dad was Superman, but he didn’t get _in trouble_. It just wasn’t Hotch.

He’d heard Hotch scolded even before Rossi, of course; Gideon didn’t hesitate to reprimand the younger man when it was necessary, which really was exceedingly rarely. But that had been _Gideon_.

But when Rossi had showed up, Reid had suddenly found himself realizing that not only had Hotch once been a young rookie, he was still responsible to someone. When Reid had found out that Rossi actually would still spank Hotch, he’d been completely boggled. And in way, almost morbidly curious, because it wasn’t as if being spanked was something you could discuss with just any random stranger and he sort of wanted to know how Rossi went about it when he punished Hotch.

Deciding that this was as good an opportunity to discuss the subject as he would ever get, Reid decided that he might as well give it a try. “Is Rossi going to… you know… spank you?”

Hotch tensed and for a moment Reid thought he was going to be rebuffed roughly, but then the older man sighed and relaxed again. “I imagine so,” he said.

“Oh…” Reid said, then hesitated before continuing timidly. “Can I ask you a question, Hotch?”

“Sure.”

Very unsure how to phrase this, and very unsure if Hotch was going to answer or tell him to back the hell off, Reid cleared his throat. “Does Rossi… eh… put you over his knee?”

The reply to his question was stony silence and Reid couldn’t quite help biting his lip in anticipation. He knew it wasn’t something you normally asked your boss, but he also suspected that it wasn’t entirely normal that said boss had spanked you. The silence dragged on long enough that Reid was beginning to consider repeating the question, but then Hotch answered.

“That’s not an appropriate topic of conversation, Reid,” he said disapprovingly. Reid felt a flush of heat enter his face and he hung his head.

“No…” he said, pulling away from Hotch’s comforting arm, “Of course not. Sorry.”

To his surprise he wasn’t allowed to pull away; Hotch merely tightened his hold and sighed deeply. “I didn’t say I wouldn’t answer,” he said, “Just this once, and we never speak of it again, okay?”

Reid was happy to agree; nodding eagerly and then adding, when he realized Hotch might not see him. “Of course.”

But Hotch didn’t say anything, again, and Reid was beginning to think that he’d misheard or misinterpreted what the man had said, but then Hotch began in a quiet, even voice.

“Sometimes,” he said, and it took Reid a moment to realize he was answering the earlier question, “Sometimes not. It depends.”

It didn’t sound as if Hotch had any wish to elaborate on what it depended on, so Reid moved on. “You always put me over your knee.”

“I haven’t punished you that many times,” Hotch said, and Reid thought he heard a note of unease in his voice. “’Always’ is a bit of an exaggeration.”

“Um, yeah… I guess,” Reid agreed, thought he didn’t really agree. If it was every time it was always, no matter how few or many times there were. “Can I ask you another question?”

“Sure,” Hotch repeated, sounding a bit wary and a bit resigned, and for a moment Reid considered leaving this topic entirely, because Hotch obviously wasn’t comfortable with it and to be entirely honest neither was he, but his curiosity won out.

“Has Gideon ever spanked you?”

That was a question that had wandered in and out of his mind for quite some time. He knew that Gideon had known and worked with Hotch for a long time, and it wasn’t entirely unlikely; especially since Gideon had seemed so ready to spank Reid that first time.

“Only once, really,” Hotch replied after a long pause. “Right after Dave retired. I guess I was… feeling detached. I don’t know.”

Detached, Reid could sympathize with. Detached was too light a word for what he had felt at Gideon’s departure, and even though he’d been led to understand that Rossi’s retirement had been nowhere near as dramatic, he supposed that it would still affect Hotch.

“Did he put you over his knee?”

Reid felt Hotch turn his head to look at him; most likely a disapproving look if the silence was anything to go by. “Reid…” he began, “Why are we talking about this?”

Feeling himself blushing once again, Reid looked down at his outstretched leg and shrugged helplessly. “I don’t know. I just… I’m curious. Sorry.”

The following silence was heavy and the smattering of the rain suddenly seemed louder. Reid had a feeling he had crossed some sort of line, despite getting permission to ask, and with an annoyed gesture he swept some wet strands of hair out of his face. He wanted to curl up, but his bad knee wouldn’t let him. As the silence stretched on, a shudder shook his body and he realized, with some surprise, that his teeth were chattering. Hotch shot him a concerned look before he pulled him closer and began to run his hand up and down his arm in another attempt to keep him warm.

“Yeah, he put me over his knee,” Hotch said, “I think he wanted it to be personal and… close.”

“Did it work?” Reid asked, ignoring the chattering of his teeth and the fact that he almost couldn’t feel his feet, “I mean… did you feel better?”

Hotch chuckled. “You mean apart from the pain?” he asked, a rare yet familiar note of humor in his voice, “Yeah. I felt better. But that might have been because he made me call Dave.”

“He did?” Reid asked, surprised. If anyone had made him call Gideon immediately after the man had left… Well, it certainly wouldn’t have made him feel better. It had been bad enough when Gideon called a few months afterwards.

“Dave didn’t leave the same way Jason did, Reid,” Hotch said in explanation, as if he’d known what Reid was thinking. And maybe he did; he was a profiler, after all, and Reid had made no effort to hide the emotions from his voice. “It was all very… I don’t know. Civilized. We talked about it and he told me I could call him anytime and he’d come as fast as he could. I just… didn’t believe him.”

For a moment, Reid felt a small hint of bitterness. Because Gideon hadn’t given him those kind of promises, at least not right away, and he wanted to believe that if he had, Reid wouldn’t have felt so alone and scared. But he had to admit to himself that he probably wouldn’t have believed either.

“What is he to you?” Reid asked after another moment of silence except for his teeth chattering, “Gideon, I mean.”

He half feared that it would sound accusing, because the words could easily be taken that way, but he thought his tone would be enough to convey that he meant it as an honest query. Because he was curious; Gideon wasn’t just a friend to Hotch, but he wasn’t a father figure, or a mentor or anything he could quite put his finger on. And if anyone would know, it was Hotch.

“I don’t know,” Hotch began hesitantly, “Does it matter?”

Reid frowned a little, unsure if he was being genuinely asked or just being brushed off. “I guess not,” he agreed anyway, because he supposed it didn’t. Again, he was just curious. The dynamics of the team fascinated him and he wanted to have the relationships clearly labeled in his mind, to make it easier to analyze situations and actions. Not that it was very easy; few of the relationships were so clear-cut that they could be given a simple label.

“He’s a friend, first and foremost,” Hotch said, “He slips into other roles sometimes, I guess, but that’s the most appropriate description.”

“Hotch?” Reid asked, before he had time to reconsider.

“Mm-hm.”

“What are you to me?”

He felt Hotch shift and for a moment Reid feared that he would pull away, but he just paused the movement of his hand for a while, seemingly deep in thought, before he shrugged and resumed the rubbing.

“I don’t know,” he said, “Family.”

Reid decided that he was content with that answer. He half wanted to press further, but he imagined that Hotch had no better answer to give. After all, it wasn’t as if Reid hadn’t considered the issue, and he hadn’t come to any conclusion. Another shudder went through his body and he was grateful when Hotch pulled him even closer, even if they were now so close that it was a bit uncomfortable.

“How long do you suppose this will keep up?” Reid asked. His knowledge of metrological phenomena was little help in taking a guess at this; the duration of rain storms were too varied to be any help in determining it and he hadn’t seen any weather charts in the last few days.

“A few hours, maybe,” Hotch replied, “That’s what they said on the news yesterday.”

“Oh…” Reid said with a frown. “Maybe we should try getting back?”

 Hotch shook his head slightly. “I don’t think so. It’s at least half an hour’s walk. Here we’re at least somewhat sheltered. Besides, I’m pretty sure someone will come and get us. Morgan will call Rossi, he’ll call us and they’ll come.”

“Why don’t you call Rossi?”Reid asked, again pushing some hair from his face. Hotch snorted, smiling wryly.

“I guess I’m trying to prolong the inevitable.”

Reid frowned for a moment before he caught on to what Hotch was saying. He didn’t want to be yelled at. Understandable, Reid supposed. He certainly had no particular wish to face Rossi, apart from wanting to get back to the house.

But that, on the other hand, was a pretty strong desire. He was cold and tired and hurting and he knew he only had himself to blame. Sniffling pathetically and not caring that he probably looked rather childish doing so, Reid placed his head against Hotch’s shoulder and burrowed in closer against the older man. At least he could make himself as comfortable as he could.


	5. Chapter 5

Rossi supposed that maybe, just maybe, it had been a bit unfair to yell at Morgan. Because, when he thought about it, he supposed that it wasn’t really the kid’s fault that both Reid and Hotch had decided to abandon all common sense and traipse off into the forest alone and hurt.

But he’d been angry, and one of his first reflexive responses to that was to rant angrily.

“What the hell do you mean they’re gone?” he’d demanded of the younger man, who to his credit had remained fairly calm, “They can’t just be gone!”

For a while he had continued yelling, but when Morgan had calmly and remorsefully offered to go after the two Rossi had finally calmed down some and ordered him not to, because there was really no use in having one more person running around in the forest, before he’d hung up.

“Was that really necessary?” Leroy asked evenly as soon as the call was ended, a note of disapproval in his voice. Rossi glared at him, showing his annoyance at the censure.

“Was for me,” he countered. Leroy kept frowning for a moment, but then he dipped his head in a familiar motion of concession.

“All right, but you can’t _really_ blame the kid, Dave. Would you have tried to stop Stark?” he said. He had a point Rossi, supposed, but then again their boss would never have done anything so stupid. Which brought him back to his anger at his two currently very much in trouble teammates, and with a glare at his friend he gestured in the general direction of where he thought Hotch and Reid might be.

“Wanna get a move on?” he drawled, which earned him nothing but a long, unimpressed look from Leroy.

“We have some spare clothes and blankets in the car so I say we go right away,” the man said after a while of silence, “My guess is they’re at the lake, that’s where the most immediate trail goes.”

Rossi just nodded in silent agreement, willing to happily go along with the other man’s plans, because his knowledge of the area outweighed any advantage Rossi might have had as a profiler. Leroy was driving well above what would have been the speed limit if anyone had bothered putting one up, but Rossi wasn’t going to complain. He did, however, consider complaining when he realized that Leroy was trying to fish his phone out of his pocket rather than keeping his eyes on the road.

With a roll of his eyes, Rossi handed him his own. “Calling Hotch?” he asked. Leroy nodded.

“Yeah. I doubt they’ve had the sense to keep a track of their location, but it can’t hurt…”

“Tell him he’s grounded for the rest of his life.”

Leroy smiled slightly at that, and after some button-pushing managed to call Hotch. “Hello, Aaron,” he greeted conversationally, “I hear you decided to go for a walk.”

There was a moment’s silence, probably a flustered Hotch trying to apologize. “Are you with Reid?”

This time the silence was shorter; just a “yes sir”, Rossi guessed. “You’re both okay?”

 Another short confirmation and, probably, some directions as to where the two where. “All right, stay where you are, we’ll be there soon,” Leroy then said and added, after a moment, “And Aaron? You’re both in a lot of trouble.”

A while later Leroy pulled up at the end of the road leading up to lake quite abruptly and Rossi’s collar bone was grated against the seat belt. He mumbled a curse under his breath which was answered by a muttered apology, but neither man had any wish to spend more time on a useless argument so instead they grabbed two of the spare jackets in the trunk of the car before going off.

Leroy quickly guided them to the trail that led from his cabin to the lake and they began to walk slowly from the lake toward the house, calling Hotch’s and Reid’s names at regular intervals. A familiar feeling of anxiety was rolling in the pit of Rossi’s stomach and he was beginning to get seriously worried, despite telling himself that they hadn’t even been looking for ten minutes and that it wasn’t as if they were in the middle of a snow storm.

Nevertheless, the relief that swept over him when Hotch’s voice replied to their call was overwhelming and in a rare attack of piousness Rossi muttered a prayer of thanks before quickening his pace to reach his two younger friends.

They were both sitting under a low tree; Hotch’s arm wrapped around Reid and the kid’s head rested against his shoulder in a sensible attempt to share body heat. Reid looked worse than Hotch, with his lips taking on a bluish tinge and his body shaking slightly. Hotch was only a little better, however, and Rossi found himself wondering why on Earth the two would go out into the forest so completely underdressed for it. Reid, he could possibly understand, because no-one had ever claimed that the kid was an expert at taking care of himself, but Hotch knew how to dress for bad weather. And Rossi knew that Hotch had known what kind of weather to expect; they had discussed it just the day before.

When Rossi and Leroy approached Hotch gently nudged Reid and the kid blinked owlishly a few times before his eyes settled on them.

“Hi,” he greeted.

“Hi yourself,” Rossi replied, smiling slightly despite the seriousness of the situation because the surprised and happy expression on Reid’s face which made him seem a lot younger than he was. “Cold, huh?”

“Uh, yeah…” the kid said and at least had the grace to blush slightly. Rossi was half tempted to drag out his torment but his protective instincts won out and he helped the kid up, leaving Leroy to help Hotch. He put the jacket on Reid and pulled up the zipper, knowing how hard it could be to maneuver your fingers when they were cold, and also pulled the hood up. Luckily, Reid didn’t protest at the help; something which couldn’t be said for Hotch. He refused to allow Leroy to help him with the zipper until the older man impatiently swatted away his fumbling hands, ignoring Hotch’s wishes.

“The car’s just a few minutes away,” Rossi said, “We can talk there.”

He purposefully made his voice hard and disapproving, wanting to have the two of them a bit apprehensive. Both of them just nodded; apparently recognizing the wisdom of staying silent. Reid’s silence only stretched for a moment, though; after that he began to sniffle and as he raised an arm to wipe his nose Leroy gave him a half sympathetic, half distasteful look before pulling out a handkerchief and handing it to the kid who used it obediently.

“You okay?” Rossi asked, a bit concerned at this. Reid nodded.

“Yeah,” he said, “Just cold.”

Rossi nodded. “Give Alex your crutches and I’ll help you instead.”

Reid obeyed, probably realizing the sense of the order, and when they continued their pace was somewhat quicker. Rossi would have told Hotch to hurry up and go to the car in advance with Leroy, but he recognized the man’s need to make sure Reid was okay, staying close and watching.

Nevertheless, they soon reached the car, in what seemed to be much shorter time that it had taken to find Hotch and Reid. Rossi glanced questioningly at Leroy, jerking his head toward the trunk where the spare clothes were. The other man shook his head and just threw two blankets into the back of the car.

“Get in, wrap yourselves up and listen to Dave,” Leroy ordered curtly and to his two teammates’ credit both were perceptive enough to catch the terseness in his voice and made no attempt to argue. They obeyed and once they were all seated and Leroy had started the car and taken off rather abruptly, Rossi began lecturing.

“So…” he dragged out, taking some pleasure in the way Reid squirmed at his tone, “Was there a reason you were out in the rain?”

He saw Reid glance at Hotch, obviously wanting the older man to take care of this conversation, and not wanting to let Reid off the hook that easily, because Hotch had at least had some sort of reason, he added. “Reid.”

The kid’s eyes widened as his head snapped back to Rossi and he opened his mouth. “Uh…” he said, “Yes?”

Turning to glare at him, Rossi raised his eyebrows skeptically. “Yes?” he repeated, “Care to tell me what it was?”

“No,” Reid muttered, hanging his head and effectively shielding his face from view with the wet strands of hair hanging in front of it.

“Too bad, ‘cause I wasn’t really asking.”

With another sniffle, Reid’s lower lip crept put in a pout and he glared at the seat in front of him. “I wanted to go for a walk.”

“And a walk was worth possibly getting hypothermia?” Rossi demanded incredulously. The kid shook his head miserably. It seemed that he was at least aware of what he’d done wrong, which Rossi supposed was good.

“We’ll talk more when we get back,” he said, “That goes for you too, Aaron.”

Hotch nodded grimly, obviously not surprised to realize that he too was in trouble, which Rossi supposed would at least spare him the task of explaining. With a hint of satisfaction Rossi noted that maybe he had managed to teach him _something_ about not getting himself killed in ten years.

The rest of the car ride was tensely silent, but fortunately it was also fast and it was only minutes before they reached the cabin. Rossi ushered his two charges inside and began to help them peel off their wet clothes, trusting Leroy to manage what else needed to be done.

As he was pulling off Reid’s cardigan the other man came down the stair with a thermometer. “We might as well see if they’re hypothermic,” he announced and threw the thermometer to Rossi who caught it nimbly, “I’ll draw a bath and get out towels.”

Rossi nodded before he handed the thermometer to Hotch who obediently placed it in his ear for a few seconds before it beeped.

“97,” he announced. That wasn’t too bad. It was lower than it should be, but still pretty normal and Rossi nodded.

“Okay,” he said, “Go to our room and undress and dry yourself off.”

Hotch obeyed silently, still obviously unwilling to dig himself a deeper hole and Rossi instead handed the thermometer to Reid. The kid fumbled with it for a while; his body unwilling to obey him, and Rossi gently grabbed it from him and did it himself.

“94.9,” he said after glancing at the display. “Definitely a little hypothermic, kid. That’s a bath for you.”

He grabbed Reid’s arm and guided him up to the bathroom, because he didn’t really trust Reid to do it himself; even with hypothermia this mild there could be confusion. Leroy, true to his word, had drawn a bath and Rossi felt the water with his fingertips, determining that it wasn’t too hot, before he gestured for Reid to finish undressing and get in the tub. But apparently the kid’s co-ordination still wasn’t what is should be and Rossi found himself helping Reid with the task.

When they were almost done he discreetly turned away to give Reid some privacy to finish undressing and climb into the bath and then he threw a quick glance to see that he was still fine before he left, heading for the kitchen. Hotch, Leroy and Morgan were all there; Hotch moving around to get his temperature up, Morgan sitting at the table and Leroy making hot chocolate, which would probably take a while because he and Jo still hadn’t managed to get a new microwave.

“Reid’ll be fine,” he announced as he entered and both Morgan and Hotch drew sighs of relief. 

“I’ll be done in just a few minutes,” Leroy said, “We should call Jo.”

For a moment Rossi considered making Hotch do it, as part of his punishment, but then his kind side took over and he pulled out his phone. “It’s Dave,” he said as Jo answered, “We kind of have a small problem, nothing we can’t take care of, but we figure we’d let you know.”

“Why am I not as surprised as I should be?” Jo replied tiredly and Rossi smiled at the fond exasperation in her voice.

“’Cause you’re married to Alex, love,” he said, “Anyways, Reid and Aaron went for a walk and got caught in the rain. They’re a bit chilled and all that, but they’ll be fine. Just thought you ladies should know.”

“Should we come back?”

“Nah. We’ve got everything under control. See you later.”

“All right…” Jo agreed, still a note of hesitation in her voice, probably doubting their ability to take care of the situation. “See you.”

Rossi hung up and exchanged a knowing glance with Leroy, who was all too familiar with his wife’s tendency to worry immoderately.

Soon afterwards Leroy placed a mug of hot chocolate in Hotch’s hands with an order to drink it. Hotch smiled in thanks and took a sip, grimacing slightly. Rossi suspected it was too sweet; the younger man never had liked sugary things.

“Okay, Aaron,” he said curtly after a moment, “Drink up and go to our room.”

He figured there was no point in delaying the punishment; Hotch was recovered enough for it and it was better to get it over with. For a moment Hotch looked as if he would argue but then he nodded and gulped down the rest of the drink before turning on his heel and heading upstairs. Leroy had placed a cup of hot chocolate in front of Morgan, who was staring despondently at the table.

“I shouldn’t have let them go,” he muttered. Rossi snorted.

“Ya think you had much choice?” he said, “ _I_ can’t tell Hotch what to do half the time.”

Morgan looked dubious, raising his eyebrows and glaring skeptically at Rossi, but nodded anyway.

“Still, I should have gone after them or something.”

Rossi shrugged. “Maybe.”

“Maybe?” Morgan repeated incredulously. 

“Derek…” Rossi warned, “It doesn’t matter. Drop it.”

Fortunately Morgan had enough sense to heed the obvious warning and just glared at Rossi for a moment before he dropped his gaze.

Satisfied, Rossi caught Leroy’s eyes and jerked his head toward the door. The other man nodded, and placed a hand on Morgan’s shoulder. 

“Morgan, let’s go for a drive,” he ordered and then turned to Rossi, “An hour?”

Rossi nodded and headed up the stairs. He thought that he would at least spare Hotch as much embarrassment as possible and that meant getting as many people as possible out of the house, because even though the walls weren’t extraordinarily thin they weren’t exactly soundproof either. Reid, he supposed, would simply have to stay in his room.

When he entered his and Hotch’s room the anger he had felt at the two younger men flared up again; because Hotch was shivering, arms wrapped around himself and jumping slightly on the spot. When he heard Rossi enter, he immediately lowered his arms with a guilty expression, probably knowing perfectly well that he had been misleading Rossi and that he wouldn’t appreciate it. Hotch opened his mouth, probably to start explaining away his actions, but Rossi just raised a hand, not in the mood to listen to excuses.

“Just tell me one thing,” he said, “Did you lie about your temperature?”

Hotch shook his head. “No, I didn’t,” he said, “I really am fine.”

With an incredulous snort, Rossi shook his head. “We have very different definitions of fine, Aaron.”

The younger man gave him a wry smile, which at least looked a bit embarrassed, and nodded his head in concession. “I’m sorry, Dave,” he said sincerely, “I shouldn’t have gone out alone; I just wasn’t thinking. I was frightened. I guess I just… couldn’t handle the thought of losing Reid as well, again.”

For a moment Rossi was stunned silent; surprised by Hotch’s sudden openness. Usually getting this much information about Hotch’s emotions was like pulling teeth. Closing the distance between the two of them to pull the younger man into a hug, Rossi smiled slightly as he reflected that maybe Hotch had finally realized that it was okay to ask for help.

“I know,” he said, “It was stupid of the kid to leave like that, but trust me when I say he’s not gonna do it again anytime soon if he knows what’s good for him.”

Hotch pulled away from him and smiled wryly. “I don’t doubt it,” he said, before pausing for a moment. He lowered his gaze slightly and a small grimace made its way onto his face. “Do you… I mean… do you mind dealing with him? I know he’s not really your responsibility and…”

Rossi interrupted him before he had time to say something more stupid. “Hey! He’s my responsibility as much he’s yours, all right? You don’t have to take care of everything. Besides, you’re in trouble as well.”

With a quick smile, Hotch sighed and nodded. “I know,” he said resignedly, “But maybe you should go and get Reid out of the bath first? We wouldn’t want him to drown.”

“Sure you don’t mind waiting?” Rossi asked. Hotch nodded and made a small hand wave.

“I won’t pretend I’ll enjoy it,” he said, “but I’ll live.”

With a final pat to Hotch’s shoulder he nodded and left the younger man to go and save Reid from drowning. He knew it was a bit of a sacrifice for Hotch, because it wasn’t as if anyone enjoyed waiting for punishment, but on the other hand it also went with the old tradition of punishing the youngest first. Or maybe not that old; Rossi only knew that that was how his boss had done it.

“Reid?” he called out as he knocked on the bathroom door, “Get out of the bath now. I’ll get you some clothes.”

He wasn’t sure whether he should punish Reid straight away; he’d have to wait and see how the kid was feeling first. But hopefully the time in a warm bath was enough to get his temperature back to normal and then there was no reason to stall. He doubted that Reid had had the sense to pack something appropriate for recuperating from mild hypothermia, so he didn't even bother to check the kid’s bag and instead went straight to his own, smiling at Hotch who had taken a seat on the bed.

“If he’s well enough I’m gonna deal with him first,” Rossi informed him, “Just wait here.”

Hotch nodded and Rossi had to admire his stoicism; he had never taken waiting for punishment that well. But Hotch was, admittedly, generally pretty much better at stoicism than he was.


	6. Chapter 6

Reid had always loved bathing; being immersed in the soft and warming water offered a welcome respite from the stress and un-comfort of the world. Showering wasn’t at all the same and even though much more time-consuming Reid loved to take a bath in the morning.

This time, however, he found it difficult to fully enjoy the bath. At first because he’d been cold and tired and rather confused and then because the realization that he was in all likelihood going to be punished as soon as he got out of the bath hit him with full force. And that made it very difficult to relax.

After perhaps a quarter of an hour his non-relaxation was interrupted by a knock on the door and Rossi’s voice.

“Reid? How’re you feeling?”

“Eh… okay?”

He thought he heard Rossi chuckle slightly before he continued. “All right, get up then. I’ll get you some clothes.”

Reid obeyed, grabbing a towel and beginning to dry himself off vigorously and after a while Rossi stuck his head through the door and handed Reid some clothes, which Reid soon discovered weren’t his own.

“Uh… Rossi? Those aren’t mine.”

“I know. They’re mine.”

Rossi didn’t say anything more before Reid heard him leave, so he assumed that it hadn’t been a mistake. Under normal circumstances Reid would probably have refused wearing someone else’s clothes but he had a feeling that pushing Rossi wasn’t the option most beneficial to him right now. So with some hesitation he pulled on the too big sweatpants and shirt, before drying his hair a final time.

When he exited the bathroom Rossi was standing in wait for him with a cup of something warm in his hands, which he immediately thrust into Reid hands.

“Hot chocolate,” he said, “Drink up.”

Reid frowned for a moment before taking an experimental sip and deciding that it was in fact pretty good. Not coffee, of course, but still. At Rossi’s gesture he followed the man to his and Morgan’s room and with a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach Reid realized that he wasn’t going to get any more reprieve from punishment. Rossi gestured to the bed and Reid obediently took a seat, holding the cup in front of him as some sort of shield, because the man couldn’t spank him as long he was still drinking. He hoped.

“Reid,” Rossi interrupted his thoughts, voice stern, “You about done with that?”

He gestured to the cup of chocolate and Reid was half tempted to hang on to it, because even though it wasn’t a very good shield it was at least something. But on the other hand, it probably wasn’t very wise to push Rossi, so he gulped down the rest of the beverage before handing the cup to Rossi who put it on the nearby chest of drawers before reaching out and putting a warm hand on Reid’s neck.

“Your temperature feels okay,” he announced, “so let’s just get on with it. You got an explanation?”

Wishing he still had the cup to hide his face in, Reid made a small grimace, eyes trained on his feet. “I was bored,” he mumbled.

“Bored?” Rossi repeated, voice fairly dripping with incredulous sarcasm, “You were bored? Well, tell me one thing then, Dr. Reid; do you always run off into forests when you’re bored?”

Feeling warmth creeping up his face, Reid shook his head, still refusing to look at Rossi. But that, apparently, wasn’t good enough.

“Verbal answer, kid,” Rossi ordered, “and look at me.”

Reid momentarily considered not obeying, but then he decided that whatever short reprieve that bought him simply wouldn’t be worth the annoyance it would give Rossi to have to repeat himself. So he timidly raised his head to look at the older man; not quite meeting his gaze, but almost.

“No, sir, I don’t,” he said, quietly.

“And why not?” Rossi continued, sounding patient but with an undertone of exasperation. Not like Gideon, who always sounded as if he genuinely had nothing better to do with the rest of his life than questioning Reid.

“Uh… because it’s dangerous?” he said, hating how nervous he sounded.

Rossi shrugged. “Well, at least it is when you’re hurt, alone and don’t wear proper clothes. Right?”

Ignoring the order of looking at Rossi, Reid hung his head and nodded. Because it wasn’t as if he could really argue with the man. Sometimes there was a small chance of talking himself out of trouble, perhaps even a small chance that he hadn’t done anything wrong, but that was rare, and now was definitely not it. He didn’t need Rossi’s stern expression and forbidding tone to tell him that.

“I guess,” he agreed quietly. Rossi nodded and Reid almost began arguing as the older man moved forward, toward him; obviously about to dole out the punishment Reid had been waiting for. Gulping nervously, Reid fought the sudden desire to hide under the bed, as Rossi took a seat next to him.

 He didn’t speak as he maneuvered Reid across his lap, nor did he waste any time in beginning the spanking. Luckily, he left Reid’s pants up, but that, Reid realized as the first swat came down smartly and spread a burning sting through his backside, didn’t make much difference.

For a while Rossi remained silent; just swatting at a steady pace, but when Reid was beginning to think that he’d already gotten the lecture part out of the way, he began speaking. “You don’t get to endanger your wellbeing because you’re _bored_ , Spencer,” the man said, ‘bored’ sounding almost venomous. “I don’t care what else you do, as long as it’s safe. You’re a genius; I’m sure you can figure something out.”

He kept spanking and Reid was beginning to think that he should say something instead of just trying to control his urge to try to wriggle out of the older man’s grasp, but he wasn’t sure what since Rossi wasn’t asking any questions; just steadily delivering brisk swats to his backside that were rapidly increasing the burning sensation there.

“And y’know, it wouldn’t have been so bad if it’d just been going off into a forest you don’t know alone,” Rossi continued and Reid couldn’t help but feel a bit annoyed at the fact that he sounded for all the world as if he was discussing the weather rather than handing out a spanking, “but you’re hurt, damn it. What d’you think Jason would say if I brought you back with your leg amputated?”

Reid considered pointing out that the probability of such limited exposure to the elements resulting in such a drastic procedure was infinitesimal, but thought better of it, and just nodded instead; fighting the tears that wanted to spring out as the pain in his backside grew. Because even though he knew that Rossi was probably okay with him crying, he didn’t want to show that weakness in front of the older man, especially since he was pretty sure that Hotch would never cry when Rossi punished him.

“And if you necessarily had to go off into the forest,” Rossi plowed on, his voice still conversational rather than angry, “you can at least dress appropriately. It’s October, kid; surely you have the brains to realize that you might need a jacket even if you don’t have the sense to watch the weather forecast?”

“Yes!” Reid replied, no longer able to keep silent. He was half aware that Rossi might not like the tone of his voice, but he was almost past caring. “I’m sorry!”

“Good, ‘cause you should be,” Rossi said and now his voice was no longer the jovial tone it had been before but was instead sternly disapproving, like he had just now began lecturing properly, “What were you thinking, Reid?”

The note of exasperation in the older man’s voice caused Reid to blush furiously, because he sounded like he was speaking to a child who’d done something completely senseless, and Reid hated to think that Rossi would lose whatever respect he might have had for him.

“I’m sorry!” was all he managed, kicking his foot against the bed in frustration over not being able to get away from the stinging pain, “I- I wasn’t thinking! Sorry!”

It wasn’t as if this was the worst spanking he’d ever received, but he was tired and cold and still a bit scared and that made it difficult to keep a hold on his emotions.

“I know you are,” Rossi replied gently, probably modeling his tone in response to Reid’s sad sniffles and halfhearted attempts to wiggle out of the older man’s reach, “But I need to make sure this doesn’t happen again. How d’you think we’d feel if you got seriously hurt because you couldn’t bother finding something else to do? You need to think, Reid, and not only when you feel like it.”

Reid agreed immediately, pretty certain that he’d think over every decision at least ten times from now on, and he stuttered out some more apologies before Rossi stopped the spanking. Reid couldn’t help but feel a bit embarrassed at his strong reaction, but the relief he felt at the strong hand having stopped its attack on his backside was stronger and for a while he was content to remain over Rossi’s lap, the man’s hand comfortingly stroking his back.

“Shh…” Rossi muttered, his voice surprisingly soft, “You’re okay. Everything’s all right. Calm down. There’s a good boy…”

After a few rounds of the nonsensical phrases, Reid pushed himself up on his elbows and Rossi willingly helped him up into a sitting position next to him. Reid grimaced as his behind made contact with the bed, but the sting was worth getting up from the embarrassing position. Rossi put an arm around his shoulders and pulled him into a sideways embrace, rubbing Reid’s arm gently.

“You okay?” he asked after a while. Reid nodded, but still sniffled rather childishly; kind of wanting Rossi to feel sorry for him and keep being gentle and kind, because he didn’t think he could handle a sarcastic Rossi right now. “It’s all right, kiddo. You’ll be fine.”

Encouraged by the older man’s kind words, Reid put his head on Rossi’s shoulder and leant deeper into the embrace, taking comfort in the warmth the man exuded.

That brought a smile to Rossi’s face and he moved his hand to ruffle Reid’s hair. “You’re grounded for two weeks when we get back home. You can stay with me or with Gideon.”

Reid sighed, slumping down a bit further. That wasn’t fair. “But you already spanked me,” he argued. One punishment was quite enough for what he’d done.

“I kinda noticed,” Rossi replied, chuckling, and cuffing the side of Reid’s head gently.

“It hurts,” Reid mumbled tiredly in reply, because there wasn’t much else he could say. Rossi smirked and patted his shoulder.

“That’s the point, kid,” he said, “Anyway, you should try to get some sleep now. We’ll wake you up for dinner.”

Reid half wanted to argue that he didn’t need to take a nap, but he _was_ tired and some sleep sounded very appealing. And it wasn’t as if he had anything better to do.

 

* * *

 

His head was stuffed with wool. At least, that was what it felt like, and Reid experimentally groaned a little as he rolled over to look at whoever it was had woken him. His throat hurt and his nose was stuffy and his backside hurt and his breathing felt heavy. In short: he was sick.

And to make matters worse, his visitor wasn’t one of the women who he could whine to and get some much wanted comfort; it was Leroy, who to be honest still terrified Reid a little. He wasn’t sure why; because he wasn’t like Hotch, who hadn’t smiled the whole first week he’d known him, or like Rossi, who was a legend and who’d been mockingly sarcastic the first whole month. In fact, the Frenchman had been surprisingly nice; not laughing at his awkwardness or mocked his choice of clothes, even showed him some books and asked about his theses. But he was still vaguely intimidating.

At least, he wasn’t someone Reid could admit to being sick in front of.

“Hello,” the man greeted him. Reid raised himself on his elbows and flashed the man a timid smile.

“Hello,” he replied, but it came out sounding more like “heddo” and Leroy frowned slightly.

“Are you all right?” he asked. It would be rather pointless to say that he was, Reid supposed, so he just shrugged; not quite prepared to admit that he felt awful. The older man’s frowned just deepened and he quickly moved over to Reid’s bedside, bending down and, to Reid’s completely mortification, pressed his lips lightly against his forehead.

“What are you doing?” he demanded, pulling away and glaring at Leroy. The man just raised an eyebrow, completely ignoring the accusatory tone of Reid’s voice.

“Checking if you have a fever,” he said, “Which you do.”

“Oh…” Reid said, a bit embarrassed at his strong reaction now, and lay back down. “I do?”

“Yes. Quite a high one, if I’m not mistaken. I’ll get Jo.”

Reid considered protesting, because he didn’t really need a doctor; especially one who was his hostess as well, but Leroy had already left when his woolly brain had processed the thought and with a small sigh he lay back down again. He _did_ feel awful, and a doctor couldn’t exactly hurt.

 

* * *

 

An hour later Reid had been prodded, examined and declared unfit for anything but bed rest. He was given a couple of painkillers for his by now stuffy head and the fever and some cough syrup for his throat before being instructed to try to get some sleep. Obeying hadn’t been difficult; within moments of closing his eyes he’d drifted off into deep sleep.

What woke him up turned out to be JJ; a sympathetic expression on her face and a bowl of soup in her hands. To be honest, the sympathy appealed more to Reid than the soup and he gave her what he hoped was a woe-is-me look. Because JJ was safe to be vulnerable in front of and she was good at making things better.

With a gentle expression, she took a seat on the edge of the bed and put a cool hand on Reid’s forehead, tilting her head in concern. “How are you feeling, Spence?”

“My head hurts,” Reid said, feeling that his complaint was reinforced by the fact that not only was his stuffy nose obvious in his voice, but it was hoarse as well, “and my throat. And my nose is stuffy and I’m hot and it’s cold in here.”

JJ nodded her head sympathetically; her face set in a concerned frown, and softly pushed his somewhat sweaty hair out of his face. “You poor thing,” she said, “I brought you some soup.”

“I’m not hungry,” Reid replied with a small frown. The thought of food made him feel faintly nauseous, even just soup, and he hoped that JJ would just leave it at that. None of his male teammates would, nor would Garcia, and Prentiss would just raise her eyebrows and make him feel silly for not wanting to eat. Gideon definitely wouldn’t let him go without eating when he was sick. But JJ was nice and even if she would probably make him eat she wouldn’t do it in the stern and alpha-male way the rest of them would. Well, not Garcia, but she would be too overbearing and too intense. JJ, Reid concluded, was the best when he felt this pathetic. Except maybe Gideon.

“I know, Spence,” JJ told him softly, her hand still gently stroking his hair, “But it’s good for you. Just try a few spoons and see how it goes?”

Reid nodded and sat up a little, wincing as more weight was put on his still stinging behind. Luckily, JJ didn’t smirk or tease, which was another good thing about her right now. Normally he didn’t mind Morgan or Prentiss, or sometimes even Hotch or Rossi, teasing him gently after he’d been in trouble, but right now he wanted undiluted sympathy.

Accepting the bowl from JJ, tomato soup, probably homemade, he gave her a sad look. “Rossi’s mean,” he said. JJ smiled mildly and shook her head, still stroking his hair.

“No, Spence,” she said, “He’s just a little strict. I’m sure he wouldn’t have spanked you if he knew you were going to get sick.”

As much as he wanted to argue the point and get some sympathy about his smarting backside as well as his illness, Reid realized that JJ had a point. The spanking he’d gotten from Rossi had been well deserved, but that didn’t mean he had to like it.

“It hurts,” he complained. JJ nodded understandingly, and surreptitiously nudged his hand towards the bowl.

“I’m sure it does,” she agreed, “It’ll pass soon. How’s the soup?”

Experimentally taking a small sip from the spoon, after blowing on it, Reid nodded in appreciation. It was actually really good and mild enough not to aggravate his nausea. “It’s good,” he admitted, “Can I have some coffee?”

JJ smiled slightly. “I imagine so,” she said, “If you’re good. And Hotch seems to think Leroy will want to give you ice cream.”

Reid raised his eyebrows in silent question, but got no other reply than a shrug and a gesture to keep eating the soup. He obeyed, quickly gulping down a few more spoonfuls, the promise of coffee providing a strong incentive to finish the meal quickly. JJ smiled as he handed her the almost-empty bowl.

“Do you want some coffee now or do you want to sleep a little more first?” she asked. Reid considered for a moment.

“Coffee, please,” he said, “and do you think you could bring me some tissues?”

JJ nodded and stroked her hand over his forehead a final time before she got up to leave. “I’ll be right back,” she said, “I think your fever might have risen, so I’ll get Jo to check on you as well.”

Reid nodded, watching JJ leave before he burrowed down deeper into the bed again, fully intending to stay awake until JJ returned with the promised items. But his body had other ideas, and when his eyelids started to droop and his mind began drifting off into a comfortably hazy state he didn’t bother fighting it.


	7. Chapter 7

Ten years ago Hotch would definitely have said that he would have chosen hearing someone getting a spanking over getting one himself. Now, it was the other way around, at least when it was Reid who was getting the spanking; he hated the thought of the young man being in pain no matter how well deserved the punishment was.

Of course, knowing that as soon as this was over he would be getting a spanking of his own wasn’t making the whole experience any more pleasant and it was a nerve-wracking twenty minutes before Rossi entered their room. Hotch immediately rose from his position on the bed and shot the man an inquiring look.

“How is he?” he asked.

“Asleep,” Rossi replied, “I wasn’t even very hard on him. Don’t worry.”

Hotch smiled wryly and shrugged. “I can’t help it.”

“Guess you can’t….” Rossi said, thoughtfully studying him for a moment, before he gave a small smile and beckoned for Hotch to come closer. Hotch obeyed immediately, because he couldn’t really argue. Rossi knew that he knew that he had messed up, and was hardly going to let it go. Besides, Reid had already been punished for it and Hotch could hardly ask that he be spared, then.

“So, you know why you’re about to be punished?”

With a sigh, because no matter how expected it was the question was still uncomfortable, Hotch nodded. “Going out into the forest alone,” he said. Rossi nodded, raising his eyebrows in a silent prompt to continue. “I’m injured and I knew there was bad weather coming. I was unprepared and… Well…”

He spread his palms slightly, asking if he should continue. Rossi stuck his hands into his pocket and tilted his head curiously. “Why?” he asked simply.

Hotch hung his head, because the flush on his face made it difficult to meet Rossi’s eyes, and shrugged slightly. Why had he done it? He wasn’t really sure, except that he had been frightened. Frightened by the prospect of losing another family member and since this time he could actually do something about it, no matter how stupid it might have been, it had seemed sensible to do that.

“I was scared,” he admitted, the second time that day, because he strongly suspected that referring to “what I said earlier” wouldn’t go over very well, “I can’t lose him. And… well, I wasn’t thinking.”

Rossi snorted. “Yeah, I think we’re all pretty much in agreement on that point,” he said, “Bend over the desk.”

Seeing no point in stalling, Hotch obeyed, a bit grateful that he was wearing jeans and not his usual suit pants. The familiar weight of Rossi’s hand settled on his lower back, holding him down and offering comfort, and before Hotch had time to prepare himself for it the first swat hit him, making him flinch slightly.

After that the swats came quickly and rhythmically; before long leaving a stinging sensation in Hotch’s backside. What was really worse than the punishment itself was the knowledge that Rossi felt it was necessary only a few days after the last time he had spanked him. He was forty and his mentor spanked him three times in as many days; what did that say about him?

Surprisingly, Rossi didn’t say anything as he continued the spanking, and soon Hotch let out his first ragged breath on the verge of being a sob. It still surprised him that this hurt as much as it did.

Rossi continued swatting at a steady pace and just as Hotch was beginning to consider whether the reprieve of standing up for a moment was worth a few extra swats, Rossi stopped, but keeping his left hand as a comforting weight on Hotch’s back. He allowed Hotch to remain bent over the desk for a while longer, regaining his composure, before he pulled him up to standing by the elbow.

“Take a seat,” he ordered and pointed at the bed. Hotch obeyed, a bit wary about what would happen now; normally he wasn’t lectured after a spanking. “Look, I get why you did it, Aaron. I don’t expect you not to be affected by everything’s that happened to you _and_ it was Reid. So I’m letting you off easy this once, but if that turns out to be a mistake you _will_ regret it.”

Hotch nodded, even though he felt that “easy” was a bit of an exaggeration, and was rewarded with a smile. Rossi then took a seat next to him, putting an arm over his shoulders, and Hotch instinctively leant in closer to the older man; gratefully allowing Rossi to comfort him.

”I feel stupid,” he admitted. Whether it was the aftereffects of the spanking or the comfort of the warm contact that made him open up he couldn’t really tell, but he decided that it didn’t matter much. Discussing his worries with Rossi was, as much as he sometimes hated it, usually good for him.

“What do you mean?”

“I’m a grown man. I shouldn’t be, eh… punished,” Hotch said, “I mean… I’m not saying that you’re in the wrong here, I just… What does it say about me that you still need to do that?”

Rossi pulled away slightly, so that he could look at Hotch, raising his eyebrows skeptically. “That you’ve been through a hell of a lot?” he suggested wryly, “Look, Hotch; I’m not saying I approve, but it’s not as if anyone would expect you not to be affected.”

“I know…” Hotch said with a sigh, giving his mentor a small, tired smile. “I still… you know.”

He gestured vaguely, not at all sure that Rossi did know, mostly because he wasn’t even sure he knew himself, but Rossi didn’t comment, just smiled in return and patted his shoulder.

“It’s going to be okay, Aaron,” he promised, “You’re going to be okay.”

Hotch wanted to believe him, and in a way he supposed he did; he had after all been through enough to know that pain faded. But he also couldn’t get rid of the nagging doubt that they would never get Foyet, that Jack’s childhood would be lost to him and that he would never have the chance for Haley’s forgiveness. And if so, he wasn’t sure things would ever be all right again.

“You’re grounded for a week when we get back home,” Rossi suddenly announced and Hotch held back a groan.

“Dave…” he more or less whined.

“Don’t “Dave” me,” Rossi interrupted him sharply, “You know as well as I do that you deserve it but if you’re having a hard time remembering that I don’t mind giving a repeat lesson.”

Swallowing, Hotch lowered his gaze and shook his head. He had absolutely no wish for a repeat lesson.

“You should get some sleep now,” Rossi said after a while. Hotch sighed, but obeyed, still easily seeing the wisdom in doing as he was told. 

 “Wake me for dinner,” he said instead of arguing. Rossi smiled and patted his shoulder.

“You got it, boss.”

 

* * *

 

Hotch normally woke up immediately alert at the slightest noise; prepared to defend himself from whatever threat entered his territory. So the fact that Rossi was only a couple of feet away from him when he finally managed to become somewhat coherent only leant credence to the point that he had needed the sleep. And that he felt ridiculously safe in this cold, remote house.

“Hotch? How’re you feeling?”

Blinking a few times to clear his eyes and head form sleep, Hotch raised himself on his elbows. “I’m fine.”

“You sure?” Rossi prompted, head tilted, “’Cause Reid’s sick, apparently.”

“He is?” Hotch asked, concern immediately chasing away the last remnants of sleepiness. “How bad?”

“Not very; just a cold, probably. So you’re sure you’re not feeling bad?”

Hotch nodded, a bit exasperated at the older man’s over-the-top concern, but patiently submitted to having his temperature felt by Rossi putting his hand on his neck. Apparently it wasn’t what it should be, if Rossi’s frown was anything to go by.

“I think you have a slight temperature,” Rossi announced.

“Dave…” Hotch began, very close to rolling his eyes, because wasn’t Rossi the wrong sex to be playing mother? And he was old enough to decide whether he was feeling ill or not.

Rossi ignored his complaint. “It’s dinnertime now, anyway,” he said, “So if you’re feeling rested enough you might wanna come down?”

There was just enough sarcasm in Rossi’s voice for Hotch not to balk at the protectiveness, so he nodded and got out of the bed, grimacing a little as the movement stretched his wounds. His injuries were mostly healed, but some movements still put a strain on them and it seemed that the exposure to cold had made him a bit more sensitive for a while.

“Maybe I should check on him,” Hotch said as they passed the room Reid and Morgan shared, throwing a concerned glance at the door.

“He’s sleeping,” Rossi said, “After dinner, maybe.”

Hesitating for a moment, because Reid _was_ Hotch’s responsibility, Hotch followed Rossi down the stairs, because sleep was probably what was best for the young man. Hotch would have felt better if he could see that Reid was all right for himself, but he didn’t want to disturb his rest.

Only a few steps away from the foot of the stair, Hotch was ambushed by Jo who began to examine him with nimble hands; feeling his temperature, his throat and Hotch was pretty sure she was about to look down into his mouth, so he stepped away, giving her what he hoped was a charming smile.

“I’m fine,” he said. Jo raised a skeptical eyebrow and crossed her arms.

“Why don’t you let the actual doctor here decide that?” she asked rhetorically, but didn’t resume her examination; just patted his arm lightly, “You seem to have a slight temperature, but if you don’t feel any other symptoms…”

Hotch nodded dismissively, eager to get away from this conversation. He didn’t feel bad, really. A little cold, a little sore and somewhat tired, but that was explained just as well by recent events as a sickness. Besides, even if he had felt sick he might not have told her, because he didn’t want her fussing over him because of a simple cold. 

“If you’re done dissecting him, love,” Leroy’s voice suddenly interrupted them from the dining room, “you might want to get in here so we can finally eat.”

Jo rolled her eyes but obliged her husband, ushering Hotch and Rossi in front of her and imperiously gesturing for them to take their seats. The rest of the team, minus Reid, was already waiting and as soon as they were seated Leroy began serving the food; some sort of oven cooked meat.

“This, boys and girls,” he explained as he put a large helping on JJ’s plate, “is freshly caught deer cooked according to the ancient traditions of French cuisine.”

Everyone looked suitably impressed at this grandiose declaration and as he began eating Hotch realized that there was in fact reason to be impressed. The meat was delicious, though whether that was because of the meat itself or Leroy’s cooking skills Hotch couldn’t tell.

“So, you ladies have a nice time in town?” Rossi asked after a while and was answered by enthusiastic nods and happy explanations of their various shopping escapades. Hotch had to admit that he wasn’t listening very attentively and from the looks of it neither was Morgan. Rossi and Leroy he was unsure of; maybe they were just better actors.

“Hotch?” Morgan said quietly after a while, apparently deciding that the conversation about shoes was too boring to even pretend to listen to, “Did you know that he was gonna actually, you know… skin that deer?”

He indicated Leroy with a rather distasteful expression on his face, probably freaked out by having seen someone skin and disjoint an animal. Because even though they saw that done to humans on a daily basis, Hotch knew from experience that it was still slightly disturbing to see Leroy efficiently and calmly cut through a dead animal.

“I could have guessed,” he replied, “Just be glad he didn’t ask you to help.”

Morgan looked even more disturbed at this thought and quickly dropped the subject, returning to the others’ discussion which now seemed to be about ties but soon drifted off onto other topics.

Before he knew it, the food was gone and Morgan was helping Jo clear the table. Hotch had half wanted to go up and check on Reid but it had been decided that JJ should go instead, since apparently her more gentle approach would be better for Reid when he was sick.

After putting on a pot of coffee they all waited anxiously for JJ to get down with an update on their youngest team member, everyone a bit worried that it was worse than Jo thought. Because, in all honesty, since it was Reid he had probably managed to contract the plague or something.

“I think his temperature’s up a little,” JJ announced as she came down, carrying the bowl of soup, “Maybe you should check on him?”

The last was directed to Jo who immediately nodded and left the table, hurrying up the stairs to tend to her patient. Hotch looked after her, debating whether he too should check on the kid, but ultimately decided against it, because he was pretty sure Reid wouldn’t want him there while he was prodded by Jo. And if there was anything seriously wrong Jo was a better choice than he for dealing with it. Despite this rationalization, though, Hotch couldn’t shake the feeling that he should be with Reid and not down here. Rossi must have caught on to his discomfort and patted his shoulder lightly.

“He’s okay, Hotch,” he reassured, “Relax.”

Hotch nodded, not convinced and definitely not entirely relaxed, but resigned himself to waiting. Morgan, it seemed, wasn’t as patient; his agitation was clearly showing and he looked very much as if he wanted to go and punch something. Hotch shot him a concerned look.

“Is there something wrong?” he asked. Morgan leant forward, resting his forearms against his knees, and shook his head slowly; not an answer but more of a general statement.

“It’s my fault,” he muttered, “I shouldn’t have let him go.”

Hotch was tempted to roll his eyes at this, because Morgan knew perfectly well that he wasn’t at fault in this. It wasn’t as if he was required to watch Reid at all times. If anyone should be blamed it was Hotch, who was after all team leader and had a responsibility for all of his agents. If they should have predicted that Reid would lose all common sense and go off into the forest, it was Hotch who was to blame that it hadn’t been done and not Morgan. He was about to tell the younger man this when Rossi spoke up.

“Derek,” he said conversationally, which caused Hotch to immediately quiet down, because conversational was never good, “Do you want to go out and cut a switch?”

Morgan’s tapping foot immediately stilled at that and he gave Rossi a wary look, looking a bit as if he was trying to decide how serious the older man was. “Uh… no?” he said after a moment, apparently deciding to go with compliance. Hotch silently congratulated him on the decision.

“Well,” Rossi drawled, “that’s what you’d be doing if I thought it was your fault the kid was up there with a 103 degree fever, so you might wanna lay off on trying to convince me.”

That effectively silenced Morgan and it also effectively discouraged Hotch from voicing any of his own claims to guilt, because whereas he was certain that Rossi wouldn’t actually go through on the threat, he would make dwelling on whose fault it was unpleasant.

For a moment they sat in silence, before Morgan seemed to come out of shock and spoke up. “Seriously, man,” he said, “A switch?”

Rossi shrugged. “Sure,” he said.

“Isn’t that a bit 1950s?” Garcia asked with a small smile, “Like, Texas 1950s?”

“Yeah, well…” Rossi began with another shrug, apparently searching for something to say, “Tried and true and all that.”

This brought chuckles from the team, more as a reaction to the surprise of Rossi’s threat than the funniness of the comment, Hotch thought. And possibly some doubt as to whether Rossi was serious.

They were soon saved from discussing the subject anymore by Jo coming down again; everyone’s eyes immediately turning to her inquisitively. 

“He’s okay,” she said, “His fever has risen, but as long as it doesn’t rise anymore there’s no cause for concern.”

Hotch nodded, pleased, and turned to the team. “I’ll check on him,” he said and turned to leave but JJ stopped him with a hand on his arm.

“Bring him some coffee and some tissues,” she instructed and Hotch nodded, quickly entering the kitchen to grab the things. Trust Reid to think to ask for coffee rather than aspirins or something. Hopefully he could take that as a sign that the kid wasn’t feeling too badly.

He knocked softly on the door to Reid’s and Morgan’s room and, holding the cup of coffee and the tissues in front of him as some sort of peace offering. Mostly because he knew how absolutely awful on your temper it could be to be sick.

He wouldn’t have needed to, though, Hotch immediately realized as he entered the room; the kid was fast asleep, curled up on his side with long strands of hair falling in his face. He did look sick; face clammy and pale, nose red and eyes, Hotch suspected, although they were closed at the moment bloodshot. With a small frown of concern, because he couldn’t quite shake the feeling that Reid was worse off than he looked, he leant forward and placed his palm on Reid’s forehead. It was warm but, Hotch now realized, he really wasn’t sure whether it was warm enough to worry about. He would have to work on that before Jack returned, he decided. 

Considering how peaceful Reid looked and how difficult it could sometimes be to get good sleep when you were ill, Hotch decided not to wake the young man. He left the tissues on the bedside table, but settled on taking the coffee with him, and then stroked the kid’s forehead a final time, pushing back some hair from his face, before he left.


	8. Chapter 8

JJ took considerable pride in her work; well deserved pride. She knew that what she did for the team, although often going less noticed than Reid’s moments of pure genius or Morgan’s and Hotch’s badass stunts, was helpful in catching the bad guys. And she usually didn’t mind being the one who made sure day-to-day things ran smoothly; preferably so smoothly that no-one noticed that she was doing anything. She knew that she was appreciated, even when they forgot that she sometimes wanted to be recognized for her hard work as much as they did.

One of the things she had long ago resigned herself to never being thanked for was protecting and taking care of the team. At least by the person she was doing it for; Hotch was fine with thanking her for making sure Reid got some down time when he was stressed, but seemed oblivious to the fact that she did the same to him, sending him off on an easy consult with Rossi or something when the rings under his eyes got too dark. And Morgan would thank her for doing that for Hotch, but at the same time never realized that she made sure he didn’t get too frustrated with the bureaucratic side of the job. It was one of the side-effects of working in a team consisting mostly of alpha-males. Plus an alpha-female and an insecure genius.

Garcia was the only one who seemed impervious to the need to show everyone that they didn’t need any help of any kind. And to a certain degree Rossi, but JJ suspected that was mostly because his Italian upbringing had left him with a healthy respect for female protective instincts.

But she couldn’t help but wish sometimes that she didn’t need to hide her protection to make sure that her teammates didn’t refuse it. Especially with Hotch, because if Morgan or Reid, or sometimes Prentiss, needed to take some time off or take it easy for a while she could always get Hotch to order them to do it. But to get Hotch to relax she needed to manipulate and make sure he didn’t notice her noticing there was something off with him, because then he would only work harder. And with Hotch being a brilliant profiler that was difficult.

Which was why she was considering trying to extend their stay at the Leroys’ house. Because here there apparently was no discreet haggling with Hotch, or anyone else for that matter; Jo Leroy was formidable enough that a stern glance from her had Hotch scrambling off to get his prescribed rest without even a token attempt to prove he didn’t need it.

“Could you teach me how to do that?” JJ mumbled quietly to Jo immediately afterward and the older woman replied with a wide smile.

“I think it comes with age. I still remember when Aaron was just a kid and he knows it.”

JJ thought it was a bit of an exaggeration to refer to a twenty-something year-old as ‘just a kid’, but it was too amusing to hear her stern unit chief referred to as one for her to say anything. Besides, if that was what it took to get Hotch some much-needed rest, she wasn’t going to complain.

JJ had to admit that she hadn’t been as surprised as she probably should have been when Rossi called Jo and told them that there had been some trouble. When was there ever not trouble? She’d been a bit more surprised when the exact nature of the “trouble” was explained, because both Reid and Hotch knew better than to go off like that and she had completely agreed that both her teammates deserved whatever punishment Rossi doled out.

She had still been tempted, though, to give in when Reid gave her his puppy-eyed look asking her to feel sorry for him getting a spanking. But then she had reminded himself that if Reid had been her son, she would have done the same, and resisted the urge to agree with him on how mean Rossi was.

Now she was only hoping that Reid would get better soon and that Hotch wouldn’t get sick at all. Somehow, though, she couldn’t quite help feeling that neither was going to happen.

 

* * *

 

It was nice sharing a room with Prentiss and Garcia, a bit like the sleepover parties of her childhood. The whole trip was nice, really; getting to be just a girl chatting with her friends instead of an efficient and professional FBI agent was relaxing and fun, which she supposed was the purpose of the whole trip.  In a way, JJ supposed, it was almost comically stereotypical that the women went shopping and the men went hunting, but as much as she was a proponent of equality between the sexes she had to admit that a day out with the ladies was much more appealing than sneaking around in the woods.

And even if leaving the boys home alone had lead to trouble, which was really rather comical as well, she had enjoyed the day and had been comfortably sleepy at the end of it.

Which she supposed was why it took her several moments to become awake enough to register where she was as she was woken up by an insistent pounding on the door. When she finally managed to clear the haze from her mind enough to take in her surroundings, she realized that it was Rossi who had interrupted their sleep. Prentiss was already out of bed, her hand seemingly halfway to her gun, and was looking inquiringly at Rossi.

“Sorry to wake you,” Rossi said, “but Reid’s sick. Sicker, I mean.”

At that JJ sat up straight and all thoughts of going back to sleep left her. If Rossi woke them up in the middle of the night it had to pretty serious and JJ just hoped that it wasn’t _that_ serious. She couldn’t deal with almost losing Reid again.

“How bad?” Prentiss asked sharply and Rossi raised his palms in a placating gesture.

“I’m not sure,” he said, “Jo’s checking on him now, but she didn’t seem to think there was anything to really worry about.”

JJ nodded, swallowing down some of the initial panic, and made a silent prayer of thanks. She quickly got out of bed and together with Prentiss and Garcia she followed Rossi to the room Reid shared with Morgan. Jo was at Reid’ bedside, taking his pulse from the looks of it, and JJ couldn’t help the concerned frown that entered her face as she realized how bad the young man looked.

He was deathly pale, except for his cheeks that looked burning hot, and though he seemed unconscious it looked as if he was mumbling rapidly. He was twisting and turning and Jo had to keep a hand on his chest to keep him somewhat still.

“Well?” Rossi demanded as soon as they were through the door, at the same time as he moved to put a hand on Hotch’s, who JJ now realized was already in the room, together with Morgan, shoulder.

“He’ll be fine,” Jo said and it seemed as if the entire room let out a relieved breath, “His fever is too high, but it will probably break in a few hours.”

“Probably?” Hotch broker her off, sharply, and Jo gave him a sympathetic look.

“Probably. I can’t be a hundred percent sure, and if it does get worse we might have cause to worry, but right now there’s no reason to doubt he’ll be perfectly fine. Alex, would you get some ibuprofen?”

Leroy nodded and headed for the stairs, and JJ noticed that he had a gun in his hand. Apparently she wasn’t the only one who had assumed the worst, although their idea of the worst seemed to differ somewhat.

“Dave, a wet cloth?” Jo continued and Rossi gave a nod before hurrying off to obey. “One of you should sit with him, try to calm him down. He’ll get better faster if we can get him to sleep.”

“I’ll sit with him,” Hotch immediately stated. Before JJ had time to consider arguing, because her boss really didn’t need to be missing out on sleep right now, Rossi came back, eyebrows raised in an incredulous expression.

“Not a chance, Hotch,” he said and for a moment Hotch looked as if he would argue, but then he lowered his eyes in concession. JJ supposed that he was still wary about disobeying his mentor, which she had a feeling was quite sensible.

“I’ll do it,” JJ offered with a small smile, “I’m used to it.”

Granted, it was normally her infant son and not her teammate that she was woken up by in the middle of the night, but it didn’t make much of a difference.

Everyone seemed to agree with this, and filed out of the room as Jo gave her instructions for caring for Reid.

“Have him drink a lot of fluids and try to get him to sleep as much as you can. I’ll be in to check on him regularly but come get me if he seems to get worse. And you might want to bathe his forehead with cold water.”

JJ nodded as she took in the words. It wasn’t really news to her, but she didn’t want to get anything wrong. Reid was too important for that.

With a final, gentle smile Jo patted her arm. “He’ll be fine.”

Smiling back at her, because Jo exuded a comforting calm that made it very easy to believe her, JJ took a seat on the chair at Reid’s bedside and gently began to swab at his brow with the cold cloth.

She didn’t mind acting comforter to Reid; despite being only some years younger than her he brought out her maternal instincts when he was vulnerable like this and the need to make sure he was all right outweighed any discomfort from sitting in a rather uncomfortable chair for several hours before dawn. She did however, for Reid’s sake, wish that he hadn’t seen so many things to haunt his nightmares.

“I’m sorry!” he mumbled, his words audible now that she was closer, thrashing around as if trying to get away from something, “Please stop! Don’t kill me. Please…”

“Shh…” JJ said soothingly, putting her hand on Reid’s forehead, “It’s all right, Spence. You’re safe.”

A low moan came from the young man and he kept thrashing, but JJ thought she felt him leaning in to her touch, so she kept her hand on his forehead, flicking away some strands of hair with her fingers.

“You’re okay, Spence,” she said again, hoping that the use of her nickname for him would make him feel safer, “You’re safe. Everything’s fine.”

Luckily, that seemed to calm Reid down and his body relaxed into the soft mattress. “JJ?” he mumbled almost unintelligibly.

“Yeah,” she assured him, “It’s me. You’re sick, Spence, but you’ll be all right.”

JJ wasn’t sure Reid heard her, never mind understood her, but nevertheless the sound of her voice would hopefully be enough to soothe him somewhat. Because JJ had a feeling that a lot of Reid’s distress came from the fear that he was once again back in the clutches of some lunatic. Hankel, of course, being foremost in her mind.

At her words, Reid seemed to sink even deeper into the mattress and burrowed the side of his face into the pillow, and JJ couldn’t help but feel a flash of pleasure at the fact that her voice, or possibly her words, was enough to make Reid feel safe enough to relax.

“’Kay…” Reid said, his voice half muffled by the pillow, and rolled over onto his side completely, drawing his knees up towards his chest. JJ couldn’t help but smile slightly at how childish he looked, vaguely thinking what a wonder it was that he still, after several years in the BAU, retained a lot of his innocence.

“Sleep now, Spence,” she told him quietly and to her relief that was enough for the young man to begin to slowly drift off, his hand held lightly in hers.

 

* * *

 

An hour or so later JJ was abruptly awakened from the slumber that had overtaken her by Reid’s anguished moans starting up again, this time considerably louder. Her protective instincts immediately awakened by the young man’s obvious distress, JJ leant forward and pulled an almost shaking Reid into her arms and started to rock him gently.

Reid struggled slightly, but the fever was apparently making him weak, and JJ only tightened her grasp. Because even though she knew that Reid didn’t like feeling restrained, he needed to be hugged right now.

“Please…” Reid said, his voice raspy and half choked, “Please, please, please. I confess. Don’t! Don’t kill me!

JJ moved a hand to card through his tangled hair as she used the other to rub comforting circles on the young man’s back, still rocking him slowly. “It’s okay, Spence,” she soothed him, “It’s okay. Everything’s fine. You’re safe. I’m here, Spence. Everything is going to be all right.”

This time her words didn’t seem to get through to Reid and he kept struggling weakly against her embrace. JJ kept her arms around him, though, and kept stroking his hair.

“Spencer.” she said, a bit more firmly, hoping that perhaps the tough of sternness would get through to him, because to be entirely honest Reid responded well to the chiding tone of a parent no matter who used it, “It’s me. JJ. You’re sick, remember?”

The young man’s struggles stilled. “JJ?” he mumbled, his voice almost no more than a whisper and childishly vulnerable. JJ nodded, and pulled him back in against her shoulder.

“Yes, Spence. It’s me. You’re safe. Everything’s okay.”

“’M scared, JJ,” Reid whispered, leaning deeper into her embrace. JJ nodded and tightened her hold.

“It’s okay,” she said, pitching her voice low and soothing, “You’re safe. You’re sick, but you’re safe. Nobody’s going to hurt you.”

Reid’s body grew even heavier as more of his weight was put on JJ and he mumbled something unintelligible against JJ’s neck.

“Sorry?”

“’Tect me?” the young man repeated, a bit louder but more importantly with his face not pressed against JJ’s shoulder. JJ smiled, a bit amused but most of all touched by the plea, and nodded.

“Yes, Spence, we’ll protect you.”

That was enough for Reid to drift off again, his arms still draped loosely around JJ and his head nuzzled against the crook of her neck. And despite that the kid was too warm and sweaty, JJ felt almost ridiculously pleased that the young man was comfortable enough to relax even in this state, and especially that he’d do it in her arms. Because Reid had a tendency to arouse people’s protective and nurturing instincts, and JJ knew herself well enough to recognize that she had a wide maternal streak that made those instincts all the stronger. She wanted to keep Reid safe, irrespective of whatever discomfort it brought her.

 

* * *

 

Another hour later, and several times of calming Reid down with gentle word and soft touches, there was a soft knock on the door and Garcia stuck her head in.

“Jayje?” she said, a bit hesitantly, “How is he?”

“Pretty much the same as before,” JJ replied, giving her friend a tired smile, “But Jo thinks his fever will break soon.”

Garcia entered the room completely, still looking very concerned, and studied Reid with a small frown.

“Do you think she’s right?”

JJ smiled reassuringly. “She’s a doctor. I’m sure she knows what she’s talking about.”

“Oh…” was all Garcia said for a moment and JJ smiled sympathetically at her. Garcia worried about the team at least as much as JJ did and she wanted to make sure their youngest was all right just as much as JJ. And even though JJ felt pretty certain that Prentiss would have talked Garcia into getting some sleep, she knew that Garcia would still feel better being with Reid.

Which was why, more so than because her eyelids were beginning to feel heavy, JJ was prepared to surrender her spot at Reid’s bedside to Garcia. When they said they’d take turns sitting with Reid it might be interpreted as because they wanted to share the burden, but JJ knew that everyone would prefer to sit with Reid the entire time until he was well again. Taking turns was more because there was no point in everyone losing sleep to rally around a mostly unconscious Reid. This was vacation, and God knew that they missed out on sleep more than enough on cases.

“Will you sit with him?” JJ offered, and Garcia immediately nodded and moved forward to claim the seat as JJ stood up and stretched her arms over her head to work out some of the stiffness from her several hours in a chair.

“He has nightmares,” she then warned Garcia, “Pretty bad ones. Try to remind him that he’s safe.”

Garcia looked pained at this information, giving Reid a concerned look, but nodded determinedly. With a final smile, which she felt was very tired, JJ patter Garcia’s arm and went to get some sleep. Reid was safe with Garcia, and even though JJ would have preferred to look after the young man herself, she had to concede that Garcia would do as good a job.


	9. Chapter 9

Rossi wasn’t even sure why he was surprised that Reid’s fever had risen. The kid’s propensity to become a target for illness seemed to be rivaled only by his propensity to being targeted by UnSubs, so of course what had looked to be a simple cold turned into a dangerously high fever that almost set Morgan into a panic attack.

Which Rossi supposed the man might have some cause for, because seeing Reid twisting and turning in some feverish nightmares was enough to unsettle even Hotch.

Luckily, Jo had quickly announced that the kid would be all right, even if the small “probably” did worry Rossi a little, and JJ had been elected to sit with Reid.

The kid would be okay. Completely okay. There was no reason to pay any mind to the knot of anxiety forming in his stomach and there was definitely no reason to call Gideon.

To be honest, Rossi wanted to sit with Reid along with JJ, but Leroy had pointed out that it would be better if he checked on Hotch, partly to make sure that he too didn’t get any sicker and partly to set a good example. The argument that there was no reason for more than one person to stay awake through the night to sit with a semi-conscious Reid would probably work better if Rossi heeded his own advice.

So instead of planting himself in a chair right next to JJ, Rossi had retired to the room he and Hotch shared, prepared to get some more sleep.

This plan, however, was destroyed by the sight of the younger man slumped on the bed rubbing the bridge of his nose with a pained expression. As soon as Rossi entered he looked up, seemingly trying to look as though he wasn’t in pain, and Rossi held back an eye-roll. Did the man really think he could hide being in pain from Rossi? He’d damn well taught him.

“How bad?” he asked gruffly, referring to the headache. Hotch shrugged.

“It’s nothing.”

Rossi raised an eyebrow and glared warningly. “Aaron… _How bad_?”

The younger man sighed and raised a hand to rub at his face again, apparently deciding that trying to hide his discomfort was futile.

“Pretty bad,” he said.

“Tylenol?”

Hotch frowned and looked about to refuse, but Rossi intensified his glare and Hotch lowered his gaze and nodded.

“Wait here,” Rossi ordered before leaving again to get the medicine. Some Tylenol should be fine even though Hotch was already on a low dose of painkillers, since apparently the danger of damaging his body by straining it because of the pain was worse than that of addiction, which Rossi was told existed even with non-narcotic meds. There had been a rather heated argument when Hotch had decided that he was well enough to be off medication already his second day out of the hospital, but Rossi had effectively won it with a few swats to the younger man’s backside.

In the kitchen, he encountered Leroy who seemed to be making tea. The man turned when Rossi entered.

“How’s Aaron?” he asked.

“You know,” Rossi said with a shrug, “Worse than he’s admitting. I’m getting him some pain meds.”

Leroy nodded in understanding, knowing full well how rarely Hotch would admit to feeling anything but perfect, and held up the box in his hands with a small smile.

“You should get him some tea as well.”

Rossi nodded. “Yeah, that’s a good idea actually. Can you bring some up?”

Raising an eyebrow skeptically and giving Rossi a wry look, Leroy tilted his head. “Do I look like your maid?” he asked, feigning annoyance. Rossi just chuckled, because he knew perfectly well that there was no way Leroy would deny a sick Hotch anything, and waved his good bye as he left Leroy to finish his task.

When he entered his and Hotch’s room again, the younger man was slumped down even further with his forearms on his knees and his head in his hands, massaging his temples. He looked up when Rossi entered and gratefully accepted the medicine, swallowing the pill with a gulp of water before handing the glass back to Rossi.

Rossi didn’t accept it.

“Drink it all,” he ordered, ignoring the glare Hotch sent his way.

When the younger man had drank all the water, looking pained as he did so, Rossi put the glass away and reached out a hand to feel Hotch’s temperature. Obviously resigned to his fate, Hotch didn’t even try to pull away as Rossi put a hand on his neck, taking the opportunity t squeeze it comfortingly.

“You’re warm, Aaron,” he announced after a moment and it was true. Hotch’s fever had been almost inconsequential when they went to bed, but now it seemed higher and whereas it was nowhere near Reid’s, it was enough for Rossi to feel a little worried. Would he wake up in a few hours to find Hotch thrashing around deliriously as well?

“I’ll be fine,” Hotch assured him. Rossi snorted and shook his head.

“I’d be more inclined to believe you if that wasn’t your most common line next to ‘I _am_ fine’, you know.”

Hotch at least had the grace to look abashed at that, but still shrugged dismissively. “Maybe because it’s usually true.”

That angered Rossi a little. Mostly because it showed how little Hotch still cared for his health despite that Rossi had spent over a decade trying to get it through his thick skull that his wellbeing mattered, and partly because it was a blatant lie.

“You realize that lying is something I might just spank you for even if you’re sick?” he threatened and even though there was an amused smile tugging at Hotch’s lips as he dipped his head in submission, Rossi decided that the reprimand was enough. It wasn’t as if he would manage what countless spankings and lecture hadn’t by a reprimand.

Any continued discussion of the subject was broken off by a light knock on the door and Leroy entering, holding a cup of steaming tea in his hand which he handed to Hotch.

“How’re you feeling, mon cher?” he asked as he took a seat next to the younger man, slinging an arm around his shoulders and pulling him close. Hotch allowed the half-embrace without protest, and deciding that this meant that he craved comfort, Rossi took a seat on his other side.

“I’m fine,” Hotch said and the obvious lie was rewarded by a small cuff to the back of his neck.

“No, you’re not,” Leroy admonished mildly, “Don’t lie to me. Do you need Jo to check on you?”

Hotch didn’t even bother to hide his eye-roll at that and Rossi noted, happily, that when it was him or one of the Leroys around, Hotch’s unit chief persona was slipping away more and more.

“I have a cold, Alex,” he said, sounding exasperated, “I don’t need a doctor.”

“For now,” Rossi chimed in, “If you get worse…”

With a small nod of acceptance, Hotch, seemingly unconsciously, leant a bit closer to Leroy and began sipping at his tea. It seemed that for the moment he was content with just being in the safe and comforting presence of the two older men, and Rossi felt a sudden glow of tenderness at this unusual display of completely trusting vulnerability. This really was his kid, to hell with blood ties and genes.

“I’m sorry I caused trouble,” Hotch said after a while of silence. Leroy shrugged.

“You paid the price, kiddo,” he said and Hotch smiled wryly at the old nickname. Rossi supposed that it must have been a long time since anyone called him that; Rossi didn’t use it these days. Because even though Hotch was _his_ kid, he was far from being _a_ kid.

“I’m not really a kid, you know,” Hotch protested, but there was no real conviction in his voice. If anything, he sounded pleased and Rossi made a mental note to maybe consider starting to use the term when Hotch was upset and needed comfort.

“Sure you aren’t,” Leroy teased and Hotch just shook his head, still a small smile on his lips.

“Drink your tea, _kid_ ,” Rossi chimed in, partly because he wanted to emphasize that Hotch wasn’t, and didn’t need to be, the strong team leader around Rossi anymore than he did around Leroy and partly because he actually wanted the younger man to drink the tea.

Hotch obeyed and after a moment his face broke into a wide, genuine smile that made him actually seem his real age instead of years above it. Rossi raised his eyebrows questioningly.

“Just imagining the team’s faces if you called me that in front of them,” Hotch explained and Rossi actually chuckled at the image. Even though he knew that both Morgan and Prentiss liked to think that they could view Hotch as an equal, none of them could really break away completely from seeing him as the always strong and in control unit chief and he suspected that the reminder that there were people who would actually patronize him would be a bit jarring. And as for Reid…

Well, the kid practically hero-worshipped Hotch, and Rossi found it both amusing and endearing. Hotch being considered a kid was probably as far away from Reid’s view of the world as you could get.

“You know, Stark would probably still call _us_ kids,” Leroy remarked absently. Rossi nodded, smiling fondly as he thought of their old boss. Because, yes, if he had been alive Ezekiel Stark would definitely not hesitate to make his two surrogate sons very much aware that they were still his kids.

“I don’t doubt it,” Hotch said, still sounding amused. He had met Stark a few times and even though the old man had died before they’d had time to forge any deeper relationship, Stark had probably managed to make a lasting impression. He tended to.

Rossi grimaced exaggeratedly and gently gave Hotch a small shove. “You can laugh; you aren’t the one who had to work for him.”

They settled into a comfortable silence again after that, Leroy’s arm still protectively over Hotch’s shoulders and Rossi sitting close enough to Hotch that their shoulder were touching. Hotch rarely allowed himself to take comfort like this, and Rossi intended to take full advantage of the moment before they went back to bed. Leroy seemed to have the same idea, but apparently he also recognized that his two friends needed some time alone and after a few minutes he made to leave.

“Sleep well, Aaron,” he said softly and pulled Hotch a bit closer before softly pressing his lips to his forehead and in yet another sign that he needed comfort Hotch didn’t bother pretending he was offended by the tender gesture. “You too, Dave.”

With that Leroy left the two of them alone and Rossi immediately claimed the abandoned spot around Hotch’s shoulders that he had left, pulling the younger man close.

“You do know that it’s okay not to be okay?” Rossi asked gently, or maybe more reassured Hotch. Because Rossi had no doubt that Hotch remembered the countless times he had told him that it was all right to need help, but what he doubted considerably was that Hotch believed him. The man had always been too independent for his own good.

“I know…” Hotch said, sighing. “I know. It’s just… I’m afraid I’ll fall apart if I let myself…”

The last sentence was whispered and Hotch was studying the floor so intently it might have been amusing in other circumstances, picking nervously at his nails. Rossi nodded and tightened his hold on Hotch slightly; there was nothing much else to be done.

“That’s okay too,” he told the younger man who just smiled bitterly and shook his head. Rossi supposed that he hadn’t really expected to get his agreement, but it still pained him that Hotch was still so obviously unable to accept any weakness in himself. Not for the first time, and probably not for the last, Rossi cursed Hotch’s father. Hell, he cursed everyone who had been in any way responsible for Hotch as a kid. Someone should have done something and since it was Hotch, Rossi was perfectly prepared to ignore the statistics of child abuse going unnoticed and just be pissed at the world anyway.

What bothered him even more was that Hotch didn’t seem to get why Rossi was angry about his childhood and had seemed genuinely surprised when Rossi admitted that he probably would have a hard time following the law concerning Hotch’s father if he was alive.

And since Hotch had such a hard time comprehending the concept of someone loving him unconditionally and forever, Rossi knew that he sometimes had to tell him that, something which he unfortunately found rather awkward. He’d never had to tell people how he felt about them in the same way he had to tell Hotch; his parents had known he loved them, Stark had known as well and with Leroy actions had always been enough. Because even though Leroy had had a pretty messed up childhood home, he had never had to feel that he was unlovable. Which Hotch, to Rossi’s eternal anger and pain, had.

“Aaron…” Rossi began, a bit hesitantly, “It really is okay to fall apart, you know. You don’t always have to be strong. It’s okay to let someone take care of you.”

Hotch shook his head. “The team…”

Rossi broke him off. “The team needs you, yes. But the team doesn’t need you always at any cost. Can you honestly tell me that it killed them that you weren’t holding their hands for the month you were away?”

Turning his head away, Hotch bit his lip. He obviously had no good answer to that.

“Well, you were there, then,” he protested weakly.

“And I’m not now?” Rossi demanded, pulling away slightly so he could glare at Hotch incredulously. The younger man shrugged, apparently not too interested in giving an answer. “Aaron?”

Hotch smiled wryly again, making a small grimace. “It’s not fair to you. Whenever I can’t take the pressure you take the fall?”

“Hotch…” Rossi began, sighing deeply, before trailing off. Because this was something he was unsure how to explain. Didn’t Hotch understand that Rossi _liked_ helping him? That he considered it as much a pleasure as a duty to relieve the high-strung man of some of his stress? And if that meant taking care of a bunch of messed up profilers and getting a bulk discount on aspirin, he could live with that.

“I _like_ helping you, son,” Rossi began again, speaking slowly and hoping that his overly clear articulation of the words would have Hotch understand that this was something a five year old should be able to grasp. A five year old who _hadn’t_ constantly been shown he didn’t deserve to be loved, at least. “I don’t mind taking care of you. I love you. Got it?”

He felt the need to add the last gruff demand to make up for the sudden tenderness. He did love Hotch, but verbal displays of affection weren’t really his thing.

“I…” Hotch began, and Rossi suspected he was blushing. At the very least, he was staring at the floor with undivided interest. “I appreciate it. And…”

The younger man paused and swallowed audibly. Rossi was pretty sure that he wanted to repeat the sentiment, but it was a toss-up as to whether he would actually do it. He had met few people who were as uncomfortable expression emotion as Hotch.

“I love you too, Dave” he finally managed to whisper and Rossi felt his heart swell with pride and paternal affection. Smiling widely, Rossi pulled Hotch closer for a moment and pressed a soft kiss to Hotch’s forehead.

“Get some sleep, kiddo,” he ordered softly, gently taking the now mostly empty teacup from his hands and rising.

“Are you going to start calling me that again, now?” Hotch asked, stifling a yawn as he obediently crept back under the covers. Rossi shrugged.

“Do you mind?”

Hotch frowned thoughtfully for a moment, and Rossi suspected that he was struggling with his unit chief persona versus his role as Rossi’s protégé. Rossi just hoped he reached the right conclusion. Which was, of course, that Rossi was always right.

“I guess not,” the younger man finally admitted quietly and Rossi stifled his immediate impulse to ruffle Hotch’s hair. The man was his boss, after all.

“Wake me up if you feel worse,” he ordered instead, trying to sound at least somewhat stern which was hard when Hotch looked disturbingly much like a disheveled puppy. And Rossi had hoped he was too old to pull off the puppy-look to get out of trouble…

“Or if you have a nightmare or can’t go to sleep. And don’t you dare get out of bed before eight!”

Hotch smirked and rolled over on his side, pulling his knees up toward his chest slightly. “Yes, mother,” he drawled.

Rossi snorted and swatted him once, hard enough to actually sting because Hotch had been a little difficult, trying to hide his sickness. The younger man made a small sound of protest, but didn’t say anything and just burrowed deeper into his pillow.

“Sogni d’oro, figliolo,” Rossi mumbled gently to a now half-asleep Hotch and this time he did reach out to lightly stroke Hotch’s hair before heading off to bed himself. Hotch would be okay, he decided. Because even though he would never admit it out loud for the sheer sappiness of it, family was a great healer.


	10. Chapter 10

Reid really hated being sick. It made him sore and tired and made it impossible to think and made him feel completely useless and pathetic. When he was a kid it hadn’t been so bad; then he could just curl up and watch TV, unbothered by anyone’s stifling concern. But now, with the entire team around, it sucked. Because they wouldn’t leave him alone; always nagging at him to drink water, taking his temperature and swaddling him with blankets. It sucked.

Especially since no-one seemed inclined to take his complaints seriously; they just smiled indulgently like he was a cranky child. Or frowned sternly as if he was a naughty child, in Hotch’s case. Which was unfair, because Hotch was sick as well and _he_ was allowed to be out of bed.

“But Hotch!” Reid said, in what might possibly be interpreted as a whining tone, the second time his boss came in to check on him, “I feel fine.”

Hotch looked seriously at him, his frown a bit deeper than usual. “That may very well be,” he said and for a moment Reid felt a flash of hope, “but you _aren’t_ fine, so it’s irrelevant.”

Reid sighed deeply and took a long drink from the glass of juice Hotch had brought him and ordered to drink. “It’s not as if I’m dying,” he complained. Hotch’s face just settled into a deeper frown, his mouth tightening slightly, and Reid realized that what he’d said had been a mistake. “Sorry. It’s just… This sucks.”

Maybe he should be offended that the normally dead serious unit chief smiled at that, looking very much amused, but Reid only felt a small hint of annoyance, and that was mostly because Hotch smiling at his complaints meant that the chance of him taking them seriously was infinitesimal.

“It’s just for today, Reid,” Hotch assured him, “to not aggravate your cold. You can’t afford to have your fever rise anymore.”

“Actually,” Reid spoke up, happy to have anything to take his mind off the current situation, “actual damage is only very rarely done by a temperature of anything less than 104 degrees. Anything under that is only beneficial to healing by increasing the mobility of the leukocytes and…”

He broke off when he realized that Hotch was only giving him a blank look and grimaced slightly. Medical facts weren’t a good topic for conversation, apparently.

“Your temperature _was_ almost up to 104 for a while,” Hotch said, whatever amusement he might have felt now gone, “I think we’re justified in worrying.”

Reid sighed again, but had to concede the point. His memories from the morning were hazy; mostly cool hands stroking his forehead and coaxing him to drink some sweet liquid. But it was pretty obvious that he’d been very sick and that made it difficult to argue with Hotch. And the fact that it was Hotch, of course.

For a moment the room was silent except for Reid’s rather heavy breathing and he was just beginning to feel his eyelids droop as Hotch spoke. “Finish your juice,” he ordered, “Then you can sleep some more.”

Reid nodded and took another gulp of the juice, holding the glass in front of his face and looking down into it as a shield. “Maybe…” he ventured shyly, trying not to look at Hotch’s face, “Maybe you could stay?”

Because even though he wasn’t sure Hotch’s presence would ward off nightmares, it was worth a try. The night’s sleep had been interrupted several times by waking up in the grips of terror after a nightmare, probably made worse by the fever, and he was pretty sure that the few agonizing seconds when his heart was speeding and his whole body was tensed, prepared for fight, weren’t aiding his recovery.

“Yes, of course,” Hotch immediately agreed, and Reid decided that his frown was probably concerned rather than annoyed. Reid smiled weakly in thanks and his boss’s frown lifted slightly before he took Reid’s glass and put it away on the nearby dresser. “Go to sleep now.”

Reid obeyed; leaning back against his pillow, closing his eyes and despite the still wooly ache in his head he fell asleep within minutes.

 

* * *

 

What woke him up was probably his body realizing that he was hungry. Very hungry, his grumbling stomach soon informed him. He pried open his gritty eyes and turned his head to try to figure out what time it was, only to have his gaze fall on his sleeping unit chief.

Hotch was sitting slumped in his chair, eyes closed and head rested against the headboard of the bed. Reid felt a little guilty that he had caused his boss to sleep in such an uncomfortable position, but then he realized that Hotch’s presence had worked as an effective deterrent of nightmares. And maybe it was selfish of him, but that rationalized away most of the guilt.

He cleared his throat loudly and when Hotch stirred slightly, he spoke up. “Hotch? You awake?”

The older man straightened and blinked a few times before his eyes settled on Reid and his face took on the familiar serious look. “Yes,” he said, “Something wrong?”

“No, I’m just hungry,” Reid said. Hotch straightened entirely and unconsciously smoothed his sleeves, nodding.

“Oh,” he said, “Well, you can probably come down and eat something. If you feel up to it.”

Reid nodded eagerly, happy for the chance to get out of bed; he felt as if it’d been his prison the last day. Not that he could probably have been up for long even if he’d been allowed to. Hotch waited patiently as Reid rolled out of bed, taking a moment to become steady on his feet.

“Uh…” he then began, hesitantly, “I kind of want to change?”

Hotch seemed to consider this for a while, why, Reid wasn’t sure, and then he nodded curtly and left Reid to change out of the now rather soggy clothes Rossi had loaned him. For a while he debated whether he should wear proper clothes or go with his pajamas. Realizing that he’d probably go to bed again in half an hour or so, he went for pajamas.

When he exited the room Hotch studied him intently for a moment, concern etched on his face. Apparently he was pleased with whatever he saw, because he soon gestured for Reid to lead the way downstairs.

When they reached the bottom of the stairs, Hotch headed for the dining room and Reid followed obediently. Rossi, Morgan, Prentiss and Garcia were all seated around the table playing cards, but as soon as Hotch entered the room with Reid in tow they all looked up.

“Thought you were supposed to be in bed,” Rossi said to Reid, frowning in obvious censure. Reid shrugged and looked at Hotch, silently asking the older man to defend him.

“I said it was okay,” Hotch said calmly, “Just to get something to eat.”

 Rossi’s frown remained for a moment as he eyed Reid skeptically, but then he shrugged slightly. “All right,” he said, “Sit down. I’ll get you something.”

Reid obeyed immediately, because to entirely honest he was beginning to feel a bit lightheaded from the exertion of going down the stairs and then keeping upright, and Hotch took a seat opposite him.

“You feel up to eating something solid?” Rossi asked without turning around from his survey of the fridge’s contents.

“I think so,” Reid replied after a moment’s consideration. His stomach hadn’t protested too violently for a while and he was honestly yearning for some proper food. Rossi nodded and began to take things out from the fridge. Reid quickly got bored with watching him and turned to the rest of the team.

He happily noted that they all looked both healthy and fairly happy. There was concern in their eyes as they looked at him, but that was to be expected; he had long ago come to terms with the fact that the team worried about him. But he still couldn’t help but feel guilty when they lost sleep because of that worry, so it was with relief he noted that they all seemed none the worse for wear.

“How’re you feeling, pretty boy?” Morgan asked.

“Better,” Reid replied with a small smile.

“I’m sure you’ll be completely fine soon, my delicious genius cupcake,” Garcia said with a wide smile, Prentiss nodding in agreement, also giving him a kind smile.

“Where are the others?” Hotch asked.

“Alex and Jo went grocery shopping, JJ is resting,” Rossi said, “How’s your fever?”

The question was directed at Hotch, who shrugged. “The same as before, I think.”

“Reid?”

“Uh… I don’t know?”

How was he supposed to know how high his fever was? He could tell the difference between not feverish, somewhat feverish and very feverish, but that was about as far it went. He had PhDs after all, not a medical degree.

“Check, then,” Rossi said, with what sounded like forced patience and at Reid’s questioning look he dug out a thermometer from one of the cupboards. Reid obediently took his temperature, glad that he could control his fingers now, and after the beep he read the display.

“101,” he announced.

“Not too bad, I guess. You can stay up.”

The last was delivered as a magnanimous declaration and Reid couldn’t help but smile slightly, which had probably been Rossi’s intention.

After that Rossi’s attention went back to whatever he was currently heating in the frying pan, and Reid turned to the rest of the team.

“So…” he asked, “What have you guys been doing?”

This brought on more happy chatter, and Reid gratefully allowed the words to wash over him. Even though he still had some trouble interacting with large groups of strangers and being around people exhausted him, the team had taken on such a secure role in his life that these restrictions no longer applied to them. With the team, he didn’t feel the need to get away if he spent more than a few hours with them and he didn't become uncomfortable when they all joked and laughed. Mostly because, for the first time in his life, he was included.

After a few minutes Rossi placed plates in front of him and Hotch. “Eat up,” he ordered, “Jo’ll kill us all if you’re out of bed when she comes back.”

Reid obeyed, because his backside was still reminding him of why it was stupid to disobey and besides, he was still tired. It was nice to get out of bed for a while, but he had a feeling that when he had finished the food he would be perfectly prepared to get back to the comfortable warmth of his bed.

 It only took him a few minutes to finish his food; Rossi’s silent but constant reminder that he should get back to bed as soon as possible wasn’t ideal for a nice, relaxed meal.

When he was done, Rossi immediately gestured for him to get back up to bed and as he stood the older man moved to follow him, apparently not trusting him to go on his own. He frowned.

“I’m not an invalid, you know,” he complained, but Rossi seemed unimpressed and just gave him a skeptical glance that made his face heat. It wasn’t fair that Rossi could have him blushing with a single look.

They entered Reid’s and Morgan’s room. Reid turned to Rossi, hugging himself slightly, and gazed shyly at the older man.

“I’m sorry I ruined our vacation,” he mumbled. And he was. He hadn’t planned on getting sick and having everyone rally around him to make sure he was comfortable, and he was pretty sure that none of the others had either. This week was supposed to be fun and relaxing for them, not spent looking after Reid.

Rossi frowned and for a moment Reid feared that Rossi was actually properly angry with him and had just forgot it. “The only way you’re gonna ruin this vacation, young man,” he said sternly, crossing his arms and glaring, “is for yourself by having me spank you again if you keep being silly.”

Reid frowned, confused, and looked questioningly at Rossi, who sighed.

“You haven’t ruined our vacation,” he said. “All right?”

More because he had no wish to be spanked again than because he agreed, Reid nodded.

“Okay. Bed.”

It was said jovially, but Reid had no doubt it was an order and having no wish to push Rossi he obeyed quickly, pulling the covers up to his chin.

Rossi took a seat on the chair next to the bed, and strangely enough it felt as comforting as when it had been Hotch. A year or so ago that definitely wouldn’t have been the case, because even though Rossi had been family back then it had been more like a slightly distant uncle. Unlike now, when he wasn’t quite a father figure but still more than what he had been back then. Maybe a very close uncle.

“You think you can go to sleep?” Rossi asked. Reid nodded, a bit hesitantly. He didn’t really want Rossi to leave. Not that he was sacred to be alone or anything like that, he just… would like some company right now. But he wasn’t about to admit that.

“Do you think you’re friends are angry with me?” he asked instead, to keep the older man there. Rossi looked a little confused for a moment, then frowned.

“Jo and Alex, you mean? Hell no, kid. They like you.”

Reid frowned and looked down at his hands. He didn’t quite see what that had to do with it and besides, he didn’t really think that they did like him. Tolerated him, probably, and were maybe even amused by him, but they didn’t _like_ him. People like the Leroys didn’t just like guys like him. No-one did, really, but especially not suave Frenchmen and beautiful doctors.

“Reid?” Rossi interrupted his thoughts suddenly, putting a hand on his shoulder, “They _do_ like you.”

Maybe he should be annoyed that Rossi could apparently read him with such ease, but to be honest he was mostly glad for the reassurance and the opportunity it gave him to continue on this topic. Because even if it was uncomfortable and embarrassing to discuss things concerning his social inabilities with Rossi, who was after all somewhat renowned for his social _abilities_ , it was also reassuring. When Reid managed to gather enough courage to ask the Italian man about something that was bothering him, Rossi would often offer a proper explanation instead of just empty reassurances like the rest of the team tended to do. Like telling him how to ask a girl out rather than just telling him to be himself.

And even though this very deep-founded insecurity, the nagging doubt that he was really, at the core, unlikeable, wasn’t something he had ever really talked about with Rossi, maybe if he did he would get some practical answers that would actually allow him to grasp _why_ people liked him.

“Why?” he asked quietly, still looking at his hands.

“Why do they like you?” Rossi clarified, sounding a bit amused, “Well, Reid, I would imagine it has something to do with the fact that you’re a nice kid.”

Reid’s frown deepened, and he bit his lower lip. “Yeah… but, I mean… I’m not like you or Hotch.”

“I think we can all agree on that,” Rossi replied, smirking, and Reid ducked his head. “Look… No, kid, you’re not like me or Hotch or like anyone else on the team. You’re a _person_ , Reid. Unique.”

“Yeah…” Reid agreed hesitantly, playing distractedly with the covers, “But what I mean is… it would only be natural for guys like you or for a guy like Leroy, to feel more, eh… friendly toward someone more… someone… not like me.”

At the final words he lowered his gaze and completely hid his face behind curtains of hair, half afraid that Rossi would agree.

“Spencer…” Rossi said, gently chiding, “C’mon, kid. You know that’s bullshit.”

Reid shrugged, awkwardly raising a hand to tuck a stray lock of hair behind his ear.

“I guess,” he agreed quietly. Rossi frowned, looking concerned, and after a moment he spoke up again.

“At least tell me this: do you seriously doubt that the team loves you?”

Blushing a little, Reid swallowed audibly before turning his face a bit further from Rossi.

“Love?” he echoed weakly, hopefully. Rossi raised his eyebrows, smiling wryly.

“Yeah, kid. _Love_.”

“Oh…” was all Reid managed to reply to that, biting his lower lip slightly. Love? He knew the team liked him, but loved? Love was the squishy stuff that they talked about in novels and poems and made people want to kill for each other. It certainly wasn’t what people felt about him.

“Really?” he managed after a moment, sounding a bit incredulous and possibly a bit skeptical. “I mean… I know you guys kind of like me, but…”

He trailed off after that, because the serious expression on Rossi’s face suggested that he had said something stupid and not wanting to get in trouble, he shut his mouth and looked expectantly at Rossi.

“Are you serious?” Rossi asked, his voice flat and somewhat disbelieving, “Do I really need to kick the whole team’s asses?”

Reid frowned in confusion. “Sorry..?” he ventured hesitantly, not sure why the older man was upset and not sure what he could do to fix it. At least, it seemed that Reid was no longer in any immediate danger.

“You tellin’ me that you’ve worked with these people for, what? six years and they’ve never told you they love you?”

Rossi was gesturing wildly and Reid shrunk back a little more into the pillows. He wasn’t even sure what he had done to deserve being yelled at and had no idea how to end it.

“Uh… Yes? I mean… They have. But that’s… I mean, it’s a socially accepted convention that you express affection for people you’re close to in a suitable jargon and…”

“Spencer!” Rossi interrupted him sharply, raising both hands as if trying to stave something off, and Reid quieted once again to listen.

“Let me get this straight: you’re sayin’ that when I tell you I love you, I’m really just following social conventions?”

Happy that Rossi seemed to be following his reasoning, even though he was a bit confused by the threatening note in Rossi’s voice, Reid nodded.

Which was apparently the wrong answer, because Rossi, rather roughly, grabbed a hold of his shoulder, turned him over and swatted his backside. Hard, and Reid couldn’t help the undignified yelp he let out and as Rossi turned him back he shot the older man an accusing glare.

“What’d you do that for?” he demanded, a bit annoyed by how shrill his voice sounded.

“What do you think?” Rossi countered, crossing his arms and his expression eerily similar to the one Hotch had when someone had disobeyed him. Reid frowned, by now really confused. He had a definite feeling he had messed up, but he wasn’t entirely sure how. Maybe it wasn’t exactly polite to point out to people how much what they perceived as conscious decisions was actually just products of their cultural context, but he’d thought that Rossi, as a profiler, would know that.

“I… did something wrong?”

Rossi snorted and shook his head. “Yeah, you got that right. But I was after something a bit more specific?”

Reid frowned, and for once in his life he had absolutely no idea what to say. He shrugged, pouting a little, because Rossi was being completely unreasonable and unfair.

“Well…” Rossi drawled after a moment, realizing that he wouldn’t get an answer, “There’s the whole calling me a liar thing, for one.”

“I didn’t…”

“Ah!” Rossi interrupted him sharply, raising a finger, “Don’t get yourself into more trouble than you already are. If I say something and you claim that I don’t mean it, then you’re saying that I’m lying, correct?”

Starting to get what Rossi was getting at, Reid bit his lower lip before he slowly nodded his agreement.

“Then you’re calling me a liar,” Rossi concluded with a curious expression, spreading his hands in silent question. And it was then Reid realized that the older profiler had effectively backed him into a corner. He shook his head, because he was fairly certain that Rossi wouldn’t appreciate him not refuting the accusation.

“All right. So then when I say that I love you, it’s the truth, yes?”

Reid sighed deeply, before he nodded. He wasn’t quite sure how they had gotten to this point and he wasn’t sure he completely believed Rossi, but he wasn’t about to push the man right now. Besides, the fact that Rossi felt it was an issue it was worth arguing about had to mean something, right?

“I guess…”

“Good,” Rossi said curtly and before Reid had time to react he was once again turned onto his side and given three hard swats. Reid glared at him and resisted the urge to reach back and rub.

“Would you stop doing that?” he complained. Rossi raised his eyebrows skeptically.

“Be glad you’re not getting the full treatment. Hotch would if he was being as silly as you are. Now go to sleep and I’ll bring you some books a bit later, okay?”

Reid nodded and readjusted the covers to cover all of him except his chin and to his embarrassment Rossi, apparently unconsciously, helped him, gently tucking the covers under his shoulder and cocooning him in a way no-one had done since he was seven or so. But he was too sleepy and too comfortable to protest and he didn’t even try to avoid Rossi’s hand stretched out to ruffle his hair slightly.

“I love you, kid,” Rossi said quietly, smiling a bit sadly, “As does the team.”

He seemed to hesitate for a moment, before leaning over and softly pressing a light kiss to Reid’s forehead. And this time Reid was certain that it wasn’t to check if he had a fever.


	11. Chapter 11

Leroy had never liked the rain. Partly because of its very nature, wet and cold and depressing, and partly because of the memories it brought up. So even though he could appreciate the coziness of being stuck inside with rain smattering against the windows, it tended to put him in a somewhat melancholy mood.

Now, with the house full of people all much younger than him, the melancholy was replaced by nostalgia. Not as much because he missed his days in the Bureau as because of the realization that he was getting old. It wasn’t as if he had been completely unaware of it before, of course, but seeing Hotch, the bright kid who Rossi had more or less adopted, expertly commanding an elite team of FBI agents really drove it home.

Not that he minded much. Even though he often teased Rossi about how proud he was of Hotch, he had to admit that he was almost as proud himself. Leroy had never had kids, he was an only child and though Jo had a sister they were pretty estranged, so Hotch was the only one he’d ever had occasion to be proud of.

Which, he supposed, might be why he was about to make pizza for nine people just because Hotch happened to like home-made pizza. Rossi claimed that he spoiled Hotch, but Leroy figured that since, most likely, no-one had ever done that for the younger man he might as well. Being a kid was supposed to be about sometimes having candy on weekdays and ice-cream for dinner and since Hotch had been denied that Leroy took it on himself to make up for it. And if that meant spending his evening kneading dough, he was fine with that.

But he’d still rope Rossi into helping him.

Because his friend needed some relaxation and Leroy was pretty sure that the familiarity of talking with and teasing each other would give him that.

Leroy hadn’t really counted on there being any trouble with the guests. A week’s vacation didn’t offer that many opportunities for stupid stunts and Hotch was well past acting out to test the boundaries. So he had been a bit surprised when both the kid, Reid, and Hotch got themselves into trouble their second day there and more than a little sympathetic toward Rossi. Leroy could barely manage doling out one spanking, let alone two. And especially when one of them was to the puppy-eyed kid. Hotch had been young back then, of course, and had looked it as well, but not like Reid. 

And then, as if managing to get into trouble despite all odds being against it wasn’t enough, both men had gotten sick. Hotch, admittedly, only slightly; really nothing more than to have Rossi fussing a little over him. But Reid had made up for that. The kid’s fever had spiked during the night and Leroy could read his wife well enough to know that even though she didn’t show it to the team, she was worried.

So, all in all, it wasn’t exactly surprising that Rossi looked like hell. He’d gotten better over the course of the day; the easy company of his team slowly taking away his tenseness. And now Leroy intended to take away the rest of it, by pouring good wine down his throat and teasing him about the advantages French cuisine had over Italian, completely ignoring that he was making pizza as they spoke.

“So…” Leroy began after filling his friend’s glass, “Your team.”

“ _Aaron’s_ team,” Rossi corrected with a smirk, “What about them?”

Leroy waved his hand in a vague gesture, sliding a cutting board to Rossi. “I don’t know. Are they good?”

Rossi nodded. “They are. You surprised?”

Leroy shrugged, gesturing vaguely. He wasn’t, he supposed. Hotch’s work ethics were too strict for him to allow anyone but the best on his team. He handed Rossi a knife and a bag of onions before he continue.

“Troublesome?”

Rossi snorted as he began peeling one of the onions. “You have no idea.”

Turning away from his kneading to give Rossi a look, Leroy quirked an eyebrow and tilted his head in the ultimate gesture of inquiry. After all, he did like to think he had some idea about troublesome. He’d known both Rossi and Hotch forever, after all.

“I know Aaron,” Leroy reminded his friend, “and you.”

“And yourself,” Rossi added with a small smile and Leroy made a gesture conceding the point. He had been in trouble a non-negligible number of times when he was a kid, he supposed.

“C’mon,” he prompted after a while of silence from the other man, “Regale me with tales.”

That got him a smile from Rossi and a shrug. “What can I say? They’re young.”

Now frowning, Leroy smacked Rossi’s shoulder. Did the man always have to be this difficult?

“And they cause trouble..? All of them?”

Leroy found that a bit hard to believe. Hotch, yes. The kid, Reid, he reminded himself, yes. It was pretty obvious after only a few days that he was impulsive and probably sometimes reckless. And Leroy had a feeling he wasn’t above giving attitude sometimes, which he had no doubt Hotch was unsympathetic about. The other kid, Morgan, who wasn’t really a kid, Leroy supposed, yes. He was most likely reckless and was enough of an alpha male to get into trouble over not knowing when it was better to back down.

And as for the women… Well, JJ seemed far too professional to be anything but an ideal agent. Besides, she was a mother. Prentiss, he imagined, could break the rules as well as anyone and she did seem to share the men’s reckless streak, but she also had an air of distance about her that lead Leroy to believe that she rarely did unconsidered things.

The tech analyst, Penelope Garcia, Leroy wouldn’t even attempt to make a fair judgment of. He’d thought he was used to quirky people, but this woman… He liked her, but he certainly didn’t get her.

“Nah, not all of them…” Rossi said, “The boys, mostly. The girls aren’t exactly angels, but at least they’d survive on their own. I swear, if we didn’t feed him at work, Reid would die from malnutrition. He eats chocolate cornflakes for lunch!”

Leroy couldn’t hold back a chuckle at that. Of course Rossi was upset over his team’s eating habits. He was Italian, after all, and Leroy was pretty sure that his mother would have called a doctor if her son ate cereal for dinner. Or possibly a priest.

“So your main problem in life is that your kid hasn’t grasped the importance of good food?” Leroy teased. Rossi mock-glared at him.

“Food _is_ important,” he said, raising the knife in his hand for emphasis, “and he’s not my kid.”

“I’ll grant you the first one.”

Rossi just snorted and shook his head, apparently thinking that the statement didn’t need a reply. For a moment they worked in silence, Rossi beginning to mix the tomato sauce and Leroy taking over the cutting board to chop ham and vegetables.

“What about the other guy? Morgan?”

“You’ve talked to him,” Rossi replied, shrugging.

“Yeah, for a few hours. And you’ve known him for what, two years? I think you might have gained just a bit more insight into his character.”

Rossi seemed to hesitate for a moment, pausing in his stirring of the sauce, before he shrugged again. “He’s a good agent. He could go far, if he wanted to.”

“He doesn’t?” Leroy inquired. He would have thought that an alpha male like Morgan had at least some ambition, and whereas a position at the BAU was certainly an achievement in itself it wasn’t the top of a career in the Bureau.

“I think he does, eventually. Just not right now.”

Leroy nodded his understanding, and moved on to chopping mushrooms. “He have any problems with Aaron?”

His friend would know what he meant; both Hotch and Morgan were alpha males, very much so, and they were close enough in age that Morgan would probably sometimes find it difficult to always submit to Hotch, which would of course grate on the unit chief’s nerves. And even though Leroy understood the need for the hierarchies of a team or a family to be tested and pushed, he didn’t want Hotch to have to deal with it right now.

Rossi smirked and knowingly raised his eyebrows at him. “What, you wanna know if you should break his fingers?”

“I’m not that crude,” Leroy retorted, making a small wave with his knife.

There was yet another companionable silence and Rossi began spreading the sauce on the pizza dough.

“And what about the women?”

“You won’t have to be best man again, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Gonna ask Aaron this time, huh?”

That actually earned him a piece of ham being flung at him, which Leroy took as a victory, because Rossi was pretty adamant that food was serious stuff that definitely shouldn’t be thrown.

“No, but seriously; what about them? They’re good agents, I assume?”

Rossi shrugged. “Well, I don’t think Garcia is technically an agent, but basically, yes.”

“She’s certainly…” Leroy began, then hesitated. He didn’t want to offend his friend and what’s more, he didn’t want to give him the idea that he didn’t like the young woman. Because he did, and Jo did as well. “Eh… Lively?”

“That’s an understatement,” Rossi replied with a chuckle, “I don’t think she’s even aware of it half the time. Do you mind?”

His friend couldn’t quite hide the challenge in the question, or he didn’t want to, and Leroy was tempted to push him a bit on the subject, just to see how Rossi would react. But then he reminded himself that Rossi was strained already and that pushing his buttons might not be the best of ideas, so he answered honestly.

“Not at all, actually. Takes some getting used to, but… Well, I don’t mind. Can you get the cheese?”

“You sure you want it so soon?” Rossi asked, sounding genuinely curious and Leroy raised an eyebrow in question, “I mean, we’ve got two people left and we haven’t even started on the whole Aaron’s health issue.”

This time it was Leroy who threw a piece of ham and gave Rossi a narrow-eyed glare. “Is that the thanks I get for looking out for you?”

Rossi gave him a long, thoughtful look and Leroy had a feeling that they had abandoned teasing for the moment.

“I don’t need looking out for.”

Leroy shrugged. He knew that, and he usually respected it. Rossi knew how to take care of himself, as did Hotch, for that matter. But that didn’t change the fact that Rossi was his little brother who he should protect. Who he _wanted_ to protect.

“Neither does Hotch, but that doesn’t stop you,” he pointed out and after a moment’s hesitation Rossi sighed and inclined his head in concession.

“What do you want to do tomorrow?” Leroy asked, deciding that there was no point in harping on either of their protective natures. Rossi shrugged.

“As long as it doesn’t involve leaving any of the boys alone, I don’t really care.”

Leroy chuckled, beginning to distribute the cheese evenly over the pizzas, and was just about to reply when they were interrupted by a timid knock on the door, which they had closed to get some privacy.

“Come in!” Rossi said and at this invitation the door opened and a disheveled-looking Reid stuck his head in.

“Uh… hi?” he began uncertainly, and Leroy bit down a smile at the rather endearing awkwardness, instead nodding politely at the kid.

“You okay?” Rossi asked, frowning a little in concern. Reid nodded and self-consciously tucked a strand of hair behind his ear.

“Yeah, I’m fine. I was just… eh… I’m hungry?”

This time Leroy didn’t quite manage to suppress a smile and it seemed that Rossi didn’t either, even if his smile was indulgent rather than amused.

“Yeah, well; dinner’s in twenty minutes or so,” Rossi said and the kid nodded slowly, not looking entirely happy, and after drawing a deep sigh and rolling his eyes heavenwards, Rossi continued, “But I suppose you can have something.”

With that he moved from his spot at Leroy’s side to rummage through the cupboards after something appropriate to feed the kid, who remained where he was with a small, almost embarrassed smile on his face.

“Take a seat, Reid,” Leroy said, nodding his head towards one of the chairs, “Dave said you borrowed some of my books?”

The young man visibly perked up at this and his attention shifted entirely from Rossi’s quest for food to Leroy.

“Yes,” he began eagerly, “And I can’t read French as fast as I can read English and there were some words I didn’t understand but all in all I found what I’ve read so far an absolutely fascinating read. Did you know that Jean Ier,John I, was only king for five days, which is the shortest reign in the history of France and the 13th shortest in all? He was born after his father’s death, so he was king already at birth but he died five days afterwards and was succeeded by his uncle Philippe V, known as Philippe le Long, who many believed murdered him?”

“I did, as a matter of fact,” Leroy replied, even more amused, and to be entirely honest, a bit alarmed. Unless he had repressed memories of some of his purchases the only books he had dealing with medieval France were his old university textbooks. His old, thousand-pages university textbooks in stuffy, academic French. “Kid, you really shouldn’t be reading those books; you’re supposed to be relaxing.”

Reid frowned, looking confused, and Leroy heard Rossi stifle a laugh behind him.

“I find reading relaxing,” he said.

“Yes, mon cher, but not those book,” Leroy said, “Unless, of course, you want to relax so much you fall asleep.”

The kid only looked more confused at that and glanced at Rossi, probably asking for help. Leroy concluded that he could abandon any hopes of joking with Reid, and also decided to ask Rossi for some notes on just how far Reid’s social inabilities went.

“Here you go,” Rossi interrupted them, putting a sandwich in front of Reid, who inspected it skeptically. “But this doesn’t mean you get to skip dinner, okay?”

“Why would I want to skip dinner? You’re making pizza,” Reid replied without looking at Rossi, instead poking at the sandwich with a disgruntled expression.

“What’s wrong?” Leroy asked and the kid shrugged.

“Reid?” Rossi prompted when he still didn’t eat and the young man made a grimace, giving Rossi and almost apologetic look.

“It’s wholegrain,” he said, “I don’t eat wholegrain.”

Rossi raised his eyebrows, spreading his hands and giving the kid a somewhat annoyed look. “Well, you’re eating it now.”

Reid’s brow furrowed. “But I don’t like it.”

“Tough.”

Leroy had to hide a chuckle as the kid hesitated for a moment longer before a rather adorable pout crept onto his face and he sighed in suffering as he took a bite of the sandwich. Apparently years of parenting Hotch had finally paid off.


	12. Chapter 12

_He’s on the floor. Cold, wooden floor. And he hurts. He hurts a lot and he can’t help but wonder why Father does this. Because he tries, tries so very hard to be everything Father and Mom wants him to be and never argues anymore and he does his homework and he pretends he doesn’t hear it when Mom cries in the middle of the night._

_He’s a good boy. He really is. Everyone says so; even Father does sometimes, when he doesn’t yell or hit. He doesn’t even cry anymore, because Father doesn’t like crying._

_Sometimes he knows why Father hits him. Sometimes he Fails, makes Mistakes, but this time he isn’t sure. He’s been good all day. He didn’t flinch when Father leant over to ruffle his hair, because Father doesn’t like it when he flinches. He can’t think of anything he did wrong. But there must be something, he supposed, because Father is hurting him and pain only comes when he’s been bad._

_Father stops, but he lies still on the floor. Father doesn’t want to look at him when he’s been bad, so he always waits until he can hear Father opening the fridge or turning on the TV before he slowly gets up from the floor. But this time he can’t hear Father going away, and sometimes that means that Father wants to talk to him, so he slowly rolls over to peek at Father to judge his mood but Father isn’t there._

_George Foyet is, and he wants to whimper but Father doesn’t like it when he makes sounds, so he just closes his eyes and leans back and hoped that Father won’t let Foyet kill him. Because even if he’s been bad Father won’t want him to die, right?_

_But Father doesn’t do anything to stop Foyet as he slowly and deliberately moves closer, every step echoing and his breathing heavy. Aaron doesn’t make a sound when Foyet leans down over him, straddling his body and leaning in so close their noses are touching. He doesn’t scream when the knife goes through his flesh with a searing, burning pain and he doesn’t whimper as he realizes that he’s bitten a hole in his lip._

_But there’ so much pain, so much pain and he’s afraid and he doesn’t want to be here because he’s so very frightened and it hurts so very much…_

* * *

 

Hotch had no idea where he was at first and for a moment he struggled against the warm hands on his shoulders, desperately trying to get away. But soon enough the Rossi’s voice registered.  Rossi’s calm, soothing and infinitely reassuring voice, and he managed to draw a breath, forcing his body to stop shaking.

After a few moments he managed to meet Rossi’s eyes and as the older man noticed he was pulled into a tight embrace, his forehead placed on Rossi’s shoulder and a hand softly stroking his hair.

Slowly, his thoughts began to regain some semblance of order and his fear began dying away. It made him feel slightly pathetic, but the familiarity of Rossi’s arms around him was enough to take his panic away more quickly than cold showers or push-ups ever had.

He drew a few more deep breaths before pulling away, pushing back the covers and sitting up.

“Foyet?” Rossi asked. Hotch considered just nodding, because it was a lot easier to talk about Foyet than about his father, but then the genuine concern in Rossi’s eyes registered and he shrugged.

“Partly,” he admitted quietly.

“Your father?” Rossi continued, and Hotch wasn’t certain whether he should be glad that Rossi knew him so well he didn’t have to explain or annoyed that he had basically no chance of hiding anything from his mentor.

He nodded, reaching up a hand to massage his temples, and felt Rossi take a seat next to him.

“Wanna talk about it?”

Hotch sighed again. “Not really,” he mumbled but the continued more loudly, because he knew perfectly well that it wasn’t really a question, “My father was… well, you know and then Foyet showed up and… you know.”

He didn’t need to say more and this time he was definitely grateful, even more so when Rossi placed a warm hand on his shoulder and kneaded it gently, not commenting when Hotch leant in to the touch like an affection-starved puppy. He closed his eyes and just concentrated on breathing calmly and deeply, trying to wash away the images. He was distracted, however, by Rossi mumbling in Italian under his breath.

“Dave?”

The older man looked up abruptly and for a moment he looked as if he’d been caught doing something wrong, but then a wry smile crept onto his face first.

“What?” he said innocently, and Hotch suppressed the wish to roll his eyes, “I was just… talking.”

Hotch nodded slowly. “Talking?” he drawled, a smile tugging at his lips, “So no-one would mind if I repeated that in church?”

Rossi snorted and shook his head, which Hotch took as confirmation that he had been saying something decidedly inappropriate for civilized company.

“Don’t repeat it in church and not to my mother,” he said, smiling, and after a moment added, “Or to anyone who speaks Italian, really.”

Possibly even more grateful than before, that Rossi was prepared to let him pretend he hadn’t just been gasping in panic, Hotch smiled.

“Should I be offended?” he asked. Rossi shrugged and gave him a long, completely serious look and Hotch grimaced internally. Apparently he had managed to unwittingly move the conversation from teasing to seriousness.

“Only in your capacity as an officer of the law,” he said quietly and to his embarrassment Hotch felt a flush creep up his face.

He knew perfectly well what Rossi what talking about and he didn’t like it. It had been uncomfortable the first time Rossi said he would’ve kill Hotch’s father if he’d been alive, but he had assumed that it just had been something he said. But when the subject had been broached again, Rossi had been so cold and pragmatic that Hotch had realized that he was serious Hotch had been more than uncomfortable.

Rossi, probably realizing that threats of dismembering his father made Hotch uncomfortable, changed the topic. “You know, I was talking to Reid earlier.”

“Mm-hmm?”

“He seems to think you guys don’t love him.”

There was just a hint of accusation in Rossi’s tone and Hotch couldn’t help the feeling of defensiveness that came over him as he frowned.

“He knows,” he assured Rossi, not quite liking how aggressive his voice came out. Rossi’s gaze remained stern and Hotch felt himself squirming under the silent recrimination, “He does.”

Rossi raised his eyebrows, still stern. “Yeah? And how exactly does he know? Have you actually told him, Aaron?”

Hotch felt about two feet tall and in an attempt to escape the hard look he lowered his gaze to the covers, awkwardly fiddling with them. He _hadn’t_ told Reid, at least not properly, and Rossi was making him very much aware of it.

“No,” he admitted quietly, “Not properly. Sorry.”

For a while, although it seemed like ages to Hotch, Rossi kept his unwavering, steely glare on him and Hotch was beginning to wish the bed would just swallow him up or something.

“Well,” Rossi finally announced, “You’re about to tell him. Before we got back home, got it?”

“Yes, sir,” Hotch replied, nodding. He agreed with Rossi, he really did. It just seemed like a completely daunting task to actually tell one of his teammates he loved them. He knew, intellectually, that it wouldn’t be taken as a sign of weakness and he also knew that Reid needed to hear it, when he was fully conscious and not half-asleep or drugged up on painkillers, but knowing all of that wouldn’t make it any easier.

There was a moment’s silent, then Hotch threw a shy look at Rossi.

“Did you… set him straight?” he asked.

Rossi mouth curled into a small smile at the question, but he nodded. “Yep. Told him that if it was you you’d be getting a proper spanking instead of a few swats.”

Hotch blushed. He frowned and glared at Rossi, though he didn’t quite manage to look the man fully in the eyes.

“Dave, I _would_ like him to retain some respect for me when this trip is over,” he complained.

“Hotch, I could spank you in front of him and he’d still worship the ground you walk on.”

Despite the blush on his face deepening, Hotch couldn’t help but smile slightly. It was true that Reid sometimes displayed an inclination to admire him in-proportionally.

“I really hope we’ll never find that out.”

Rossi chuckled and moved his hand to ruffle Hotch’s hair, which Hotch unsuccessfully tried to dodge. This whole “treat-Hotch-like-a-kid-again”-thing was getting old, he decided.

“I’m going to get some tea,” he said, getting up, “Apparently, it increases dopamine levels. Do you want some?”

“Nah, I’m gonna go back to bed. We’re going to the lake tomorrow, remember?”

Hotch nodded, suppressing a soft sigh. He could imagine better ways to spend a Saturday, but then he could imagine an even larger number of worse ways.

When he entered the kitchen, he, to his surprise, saw Reid there. To his surprise and annoyance, because the young man was without his crutches, leaning against the counter and watching the water boiler. Which, luckily, gave Hotch an excellent opportunity to land a few swats to the kid’s backside.

Reid jumped, grimacing in pain as he moved his leg too abruptly and yelping at the swats, and spun around to give Hotch a deer-in-headlights look.

“H-hotch,” he squeaked and Hotch leveled a stern look at him, crossing his arms.

“Reid,” he said, slowly and making his voice the softly pedagogical with a dangerous undertone that never failed to make Reid squirm and bite his lip, “What do we use to move around when our knee is injured?”

The kid blushed and shifted uncomfortably. “Crutches, sir.”

Hotch raised his eyebrows. “Are you using crutches, Spencer?”

“No, sir.”

“Exactly,” Hotch said, “Is deliberately jeopardizing your health allowed?”

Reid’s level of discomfort was obviously rising rapidly and Hotch silently congratulated himself. Not that he really enjoyed making the kid uncomfortable; he just knew, from experience, that being made to feel like a disobedient child could have a very deterring effect. Besides, Reid _was_ running around without his crutches and quite possibly deserved more than a few swats.

“No, sir,” he whispered and with that Hotch decided to take pity on the boy.

“Good. Don’t let it happen again,” he said, then made a slightly pause, taking in the cup and the can on the corner, “Making tea, are you?

Apparently completely forgetting being in trouble in the first place, Reid nodded eagerly.

“Yes. Did you know that theanine, a substance found in tea and especially green tea, increases the dopamine level and has been scientifically shown to shorten the time it takes to fall asleep and decrease the number of awakenings?”

Hotch couldn’t help but smile slightly. “Yes, I did, actually. Can’t sleep?”

Pursing his lips, Reid nodded and tucked some hair behind his ears.

“Do you need some painkillers?”

To Hotch’s surprise, Reid blushed again and shook his head, all the while intently studying the floor.

“Reid?” he prompted, letting a hint of sternness enter his voice again. “Is there something wrong?”

Biting hid lip again, Reid shrugged, and Hotch decided that there was indeed something wrong.

“Is Morgan giving you a hard time?”

Morgan was very protective of the man he considered his little brother, but he could sometimes forget that what many would dismiss as harmless ribbing really bothered Reid, despite threats of more drastic consequences than hard looks.

“No!” Reid exclaimed, just a bit too defensively, and at Hotch’s glare he continued, “I just… I didn’t want to bother him.”

Hotch cocked his head and gave the young man a gentle smile. “Nightmares?”

“Yeah. Sorry.”

“Reid,” Hotch warned. Reid knew better than to apologize for having nightmares.

“Sorry,” he mumbled and this time Hotch didn’t correct him.

The water was now boiling and Hotch moved to get a cup for himself, taking over the tea-strainer when Reid was done.

“You can come into our room for a while,” Hotch offered, suppressing his small wish to go back to sleep. Reid was more important than his sleep, and it was comforting to have the young man close when he was vulnerable. Besides, the bright smile on Reid’s face when he made the offer was worth a lot more than some lost sleep. He just hoped Rossi felt the same way.

Once they had their tea they both went up the stairs and quietly knocked on the door to the bedroom before entering.

Rossi was already in bed and at their entrance he raised himself on his elbows, raising his eyebrows in question when he noticed Reid trailing awkwardly after Hotch.

“Reid?” he said, “What’s up, kid?”

“We thought we’d drink tea for a while,” Hotch replied in his stead and Rossi nodded, not quite hiding his confusion. Hotch closed the door behind them and gave him a meaningful look, hoping to convey that he wanted Rossi to be nice and comforting.

“Nightmares, huh?” the older man said knowingly, and Hotch was, not for the first time, happy that the man could de-dramatize practically anything simply by his seemingly un-fazeable calm.

“Yeah. Sorry to bother you.”

Rossi merely raised his eyebrows and for a moment Hotch admired his ability to look so completely incredulously skeptical that Reid realized that he’d messed up without sternness.

“Sorry,” the kid mumbled again and this time Rossi just rolled his eyes and sighed, gesturing for Reid to come over and take a seat on the bed. The kid looked a little wary and Hotch hid a smile.

“You’re not in trouble,” Rossi said exasperatedly and gestured for Reid to hurry up, “Even if you’re a silly little boy.”

Reid smiled embarrassedly and obediently took a seat on the edge of Rossi’s bed as Hotch took a seat on his own bed.

“Morgan giving you a hard time?” Rossi asked. Reid’s smile widened and he pulled a hand through his hair.

“You too? You guys don’t put a lot of trust in him, do you?”

“Reid, Morgan is a great guy but he’s not always as considerate as he should be. It’s got nothing to do with trust,” Rossi explained evenly, hiding the exasperation that Hotch was fairly certain he felt, “Do you want me to kick his ass?”

Reid pursed his lips, smiling slightly, and shook his head. “That’s okay.”

Hotch had a feeling that Rossi would do some verbal ass-kicking anyways, but he supposed that was fine. Morgan sometimes spoke before thinking and around Reid that could be dangerous, and even though Hotch was perfectly capable of getting obedience in many things from Morgan, explaining feelings had never been his strong suit. And unless he had an explanation Morgan sometimes challenged him, and he would never forgive himself if Morgan hurt Reid because of him. Rossi, on the other hand, Morgan most likely didn’t have the guts to cross.

“Are we still going to the lake tomorrow?” Reid asked, sounding almost as eager as Jack did at the prospect of candy.

“If you’re well enough,” Rossi replied. Reid was silent for a moment, taking a couple of sips of the tea, before his inability to be quiet took over.

“Did you know that there are more than two-thousand lakes in Maine that take up thirteen point five percent of the state’s area?”

Rossi staved off any further facts or statistics with a hand wave. “Fascinating, kid. But I’d really like to get some sleep, okay?”

“Oh…” Reid said, his face immediately falling. “Okay.”

However, he made no move to leave and after a moment Rossi sighed.

“He _is_ giving you a hard time, isn’t he?”

“No…” Reid whined, “He’s not. I just… I can’t sleep and… and I’m kind of scared.”

Reid’s voice was almost heartbreakingly small as he made the confession and Hotch had a sudden impulse to hug the kid. Rossi looked thoughtful for a moment, then shrugged.

“All right,” he said, “You wanna sleep in here?”

Reid’s brow furrowed and he cocked his head, looking very much confused and Hotch had to admit he didn’t blame him. Rossi, whereas occasionally prone to physical displays of affection, did not invite people to sleep in his room. Unless they were beautiful women, of course. Or, come to think of it, Hotch when Rossi thought he shouldn’t be alone.

“On the floor?” Reid asked hesitantly. Rossi gave him an exasperated look.

“No, on the freakin’ roof. In bed, of course.”

The young man frowned again, looking curiously at Rossi. “Whose bed?”

“My bed, kiddo,” Rossi replied slowly, sounding as if he was speaking to pre-school child. Which Hotch supposed was warranted, since Reid should know that there was no way Rossi was going to let a sick man sleep on the floor with Jo anywhere in a ten mile radius from him.

“You want me to sleep with you?”

Rossi spluttered for a moment, looking completely scandalized and Hotch couldn’t help but grin. Trust Reid to render Rossi speechless.

“No!” Rossi exclaimed.

“But I thought you said…”

“You are not going to sleep with me!” Rossi said sharply, seemingly completely ignoring the crestfallen look that brought to the kid’s face, “You are going to sleep in the same bed as me. You are not going to _sleep with me_!”

The young man only looked more confused and apparently Rossi decided that it was a lost cause to explain to the young man why he was bothered by sexually suggestive phrases being used by Reid in relation to him.

“Okay, kid, enough!” the Italian man said, waving his hand and pushing the other through his hair, “Drink your tea, go to bed, shut the hell up and go to sleep!”

Hotch chuckled, but immediately stifled it at Rossi’s hard glare.

“That goes for you too, Aaron, and you’re not protected from sleeping on the floor!”

This time not even Rossi’s low growl dampened Hotch’s chuckle and as he fell asleep, the process occasionally interrupted by a loud whisper of some strange fact by Reid, he was still smiling.


	13. Chapter 13

If anyone had asked him before tonight whether he would get a good night’s sleep with a restless, always moving kid in his bed, Rossi would have answered with an unequivocal no. He’d never even quite liked sleeping in the same bed as his wives; it disturbed his rest, and when you were at the BAU you needed whatever sleep you could get.

Surprisingly though, he might have to reconsider his assumption that sharing a bed with Reid would be a thousand times worse. Because even though the kid did move around almost as much in his sleep as he did when he was awake, Rossi couldn’t quite muster up the energy to be annoyed at it. Reid seemed happy in his deep sleep, and for some reason that made Rossi’s sleep peaceful as well.

When he woke up Reid was still asleep, his leg sticking out of the bed and his arm thrown over his eyes. Hotch was awake; reading something that Rossi really hoped wasn’t anything work related, because he’d promised the man a spanking if he as much as thought about doing any work while they were off.

Rossi slowly rolled out of bed, trying not to jostle Reid. They were sleeping head to foot, because though Rossi might love the kid he wasn’t about to sleep with him in his arms.

“Morning,” he greeted Hotch quietly.

“Morning. Sleep well?”

Hotch glanced at Reid’s still sleeping form as he asked the question, a small smile quirking his lips, and Rossi shrugged, he too smiling slightly.

“I did actually. Kid doesn’t move around as much as you’d think. What’re you reading?”

The younger man’s smile widened a little, probably because he was perfectly aware why Rossi was asking and was demented enough to think the threat of a spanking was somehow amusing.

“ _The Xenophobe’s Guide to the French_ ,” Hotch replied, holding up the small paperback, “It’s quite funny, actually.”

The book was probably one of Jo’s purchases, a not so subtle attempt to needle her husband, and Rossi decided that he might give it a try once Hotch was finished. Any material he could tease Leroy with was good.

“Know if anyone else is up?” he asked.

“I heard Alex and Jo; they’re making breakfast. Nobody else, I think.”

Rossi nodded thoughtfully. He had two main missions this morning; talk to Morgan about why Reid didn’t want to sleep in their room and yell at Morgan because Reid didn’t want to sleep in their room. Depending what the younger man had to say for himself the list might be expanded with punishing Morgan because Reid didn’t want to sleep in their room.

It was really just as well that everyone was asleep, then. He didn’t plan on being loud enough to wake anyone up, except Morgan of course and that wake-up call would give him an effective edge over the other man, who would be at a disadvantage in just being woken up.

“All right, I’m gonna have a little talk with Morgan.”

Hotch frowned slightly. “I don’t think he actually did anything, Dave,” he said quietly, beckoning Rossi to come closer so they could talk without waking Reid up, “Just Reid’s insecurities; he didn’t want to appear weak in front of Morgan.”

“Well, there’s a reason he didn’t want to admit being scared in front of Morgan while he could do it in front of you and me,” Ross pointed out, glaring at Hotch. He was angry, because it had tugged at his heart in a way he didn’t like at all when the kid had made his small little-boy-lost confession last night, and he wanted to yell at someone. And since Morgan was at least partly at fault, he made a good target. But Hotch, of course, with his ever-present sense of fairness and justice couldn’t accept that Rossi ream Morgan out if there was no reason for it.

“Morgan’s his big brother,” Hotch said, “He compares himself to him. It’s different with you… You’re… I don’t know. He really admires you, Dave, but I think he’s accepted that you won’t see him as… a complete equal. That he’s a bit of a kid to you.”

Rossi frowned as he considered his friend’s words. He supposed Hotch might have a point. Whereas Reid admired him and wanted to have his approval, he was probably aware that he was still very much a young and still maturing man in Rossi’s eyes, and therefore more acceptable to be childish in front of than Morgan, who Reid measured himself after in a completely different way.

But that didn’t really account for why Reid admitted to being scared in front of Hotch.

“And you?” Rossi demanded, “You telling me he doesn’t model himself as much after you as after Morgan?”

The younger man frowned thoughtfully for a moment, before he shrugged. “Well, I’ve never teased him.”

“Exactly!” Rossi exclaimed, raising a finger to emphasize his point, “And Morgan needs to realize that he needs to take it easy with the teasing. The kid’s still not used to it.”

Hotch sighed, but inclined his head in concession. “All right. I suppose you can yell at him a little. But please remember that he doesn’t mean any harm.”

Rossi waved a hand dismissively. “I’ll remember.”

As he left he threw a glance at Reid. The young man was still sleeping soundly, looking pretty much dead to the world, and Rossi suppressed a smile before he closed the door behind him, heading for Morgan.

He didn’t bother knocking; this wasn’t exactly a social call, and instead yanked the door open roughly. It might have given more dramatic effect to slam the door shut behind him, but he didn’t want to disturb the rest of the house.

“Morgan!” he barked, using his best drill sergeant voice, and to his satisfaction that what enough to get the younger man to sit up with a start, blinking in disorientation, and peer at Rossi.

“Rossi..?” he said, sounding confused. Rossi crossed his arms and leveled a hard look at the man.

“Where is Reid?” he demanded harshly and the younger man’s eyes widened as he quickly glanced toward Reid’s bed.

“Don’t tell me he’s wandered off again!” he exclaimed. Rossi narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms, glaring evenly at Morgan.

“You tell me,” he said, “Why isn’t he here?”

Morgan’s brow furrowed and he once again glanced toward Reid’s bed. “I don’t know. Look; we really should look for him.”

Rossi snorted as he shook his head in what he hoped was a censuring way. _Now_ Morgan was worried about Reid’ welfare.

“That won’t be necessary,” he said, “He’s in our room.”

The expression on the younger man’s face turned even more puzzled and he sat up straighter.

“Why?” he said. Rossi glared at him.

“Again: you tell me, kid,” he snapped. Morgan only looked more confused and Rossi began to suspect that maybe he really was oblivious to driving Reid away. But then he dismissed the idea; Morgan was a profiler and should be more than capable of noticing how badly Reid reacted to teasing that touched on his insecurities. 

“What are you talking about, Rossi?” Morgan demanded, he too taking on a decidedly aggressive stance and glaring at Rossi. Rossi, not impressed by this attitude, because even though Morgan might not get why Rossi was angry, the fact that he was being yelled at should tip him off to the fact that he shouldn’t be giving attitude, cuffed the younger man over the head.

Rossi snapped at him. “Quit the attitude, Derek. Reid was scared last night and he didn’t want to sleep in here because of that. I want to know why.”

The younger man raised a hand to rub at the side of his head, glaring sulkily at Rossi. “C’mon, man! I don’t know. You know he’s uncomfortable about his nightmares.”

“Yeah, but he talked to me and Hotch, didn’t he? Explain that to me.”

“Look…” Morgan began in an appeasing tone. Rossi interrupted him.

“No, not ‘look’,” he ordered, “Explanation!”

Morgan frowned. “Well… I don’t know, man.”

He at least seemed to realize there was something wrong as his voice trailed off toward the end of the admission, maybe realizing that he should probably be trying to come up with a good enough apology.

“Let me tell you then,” Rossi said, “It’s because _you_ tease him!”

The younger man had the gall to look affronted at this, raising his hand in front of him. “Whoa, man! Yeah, I might tease him sometimes, but never about serious stuff. He knows that.”

“ _Obviously_ , he doesn’t.”

The younger man sighed. “All right, all right,” he said, “But it’s not my fault, you know. He’s got insecurities, I know that, but I have never ribbed him about nightmares, all right!”

Morgan sounded sincere, and quite upset, so Rossi concluded that he was probably speaking the truth. After all, Reid showed a lot of insecurities around Rossi that he knew he had never given him cause for.

“All right, Derek,” he said after a long look at the younger man, “I believe you. But we still need to talk. Scoot over.”

Looking a bit worried, Morgan obeyed; throwing off the covers and moving over to sit at the head of the bed. Rossi took a seat next to him, waiting until the younger man’s eyes were on him before starting to talk.

“I was talking to Reid the other night,” he began, “He has some doubts about whether you guys love him.”

It was an accusation and Rossi was fairly certain that it was clear in his voice, but in case it wasn’t he backed it up with a hard stare. He couldn’t quite hold back a smirk as Morgan’s mouth worked quietly for a moment, his face the utter picture of confusion.

“Rossi…” he said, “I’ve told him.”

Rossi raised his eyebrows, intensifying his glare. “Really? Have you told him seriously? Sincerely?”

Morgan shrunk back a little at the hard question, and guiltily darted another glance towards Reid’s bed. “Uh… no. I guess not.  But c’mon, man!”

Rossi wasn’t entirely certain what exactly Morgan meant, but on the other hand he thought that neither did Morgan.

“No, kid, not ‘c’mon’. You’re going to tell him, sincerely, before we go back home or I’m takin’ you over my knee. Got it?”

Maybe it was a bit unfair to be so much harsher with Morgan than he’d been with Hotch, but Hotch was… well, special. Besides, he knew that Hotch didn’t really need much of an incentive to do the right thing for Reid; he’d always put others’ welfare above his own. To be honest, Morgan probably didn’t need much of an incentive either, but he didn’t know how Reid felt the same way Hotch did.

“Got it,” Morgan replied immediately, nodding.

Patting him on the shoulder, Rossi smiled. “Good. He needs to hear it, y’know?”

“Yeah, I do…” Morgan agreed slowly, giving Rossi a concerned look, “I just kind of forget, sometimes. He’s normally so happy I forget he’s more than just awkward.”

Sighing, Rossi nodded. All the kids in this damn family were messed up.

“All right, get dressed now. We’re gonna head for the lake pretty soon.”

The younger man nodded and rose and Rossi followed suit, returning to his room to get dressed himself. Hotch was still reading, smiling ever so slightly, and Reid was fast asleep. Rossi smiled at the young man’s pose; lanky arms and legs stretched out all over the bed, and his hair all muffled.

Softly touching his shoulder, Rossi spoke. “Reid, wake up.”

The kid stiffened for a moment, his eyes snapping open, but then his gaze found its focus and he blinked a few times before yawning.

“Hi,” he mumbled, voice still heavy with sleep.

“Hi yourself. It’s time to get up. Breakfast’s probably ready pretty soon.”

Hotch got up behind him, putting aside his book, and moving over to his bag to get some clothes. “I’ll get down to help.”

Rossi nodded, before moving over to his own bag, starting to dig through it for something appropriate for a lakeside picnic. Hotch was, as usual, very time-effective and was done with whatever he needed to do only seconds after Rossi had finally settled on a thick, knitted sweater and a pair of jeans. Reid, on the other hand, appeared to be very time-ineffective; the kid was still in bed.

“Reid!” Rossi snapped as he moved past the bed toward the bathroom, swatting at his shoulder, “Get up.”

Reid made a small sound of protest, but he did throw off the covers and sit up. “What time is it?”

“’Bout eight. We decided to get going ten at the very latest, so get up now, okay?”

Reid hummed in what was probably agreement and Rossi entered the bathroom. For a while Reid was silent, but when Rossi had just finished brushing his teeth the kid spoke up.

“Rossi?” he said, “Do you think they will think it’s weird that I slept with… that I slept in your bed?”

Rossi smirked as Reid corrected himself. The kid wasn’t a genius for nothing, after all.

“Nah,” he replied, “I’ve shared beds with Alex enough times over the years, you know.”

“Really?” Reid asked, sounding surprised and eagerly curious, “Were you lovers?”

Rossi choked on the water he’d been rinsing his mouth with. What was it with Reid and sex today? Of course he hadn’t slept with Alex in that sense; the idea was almost as disturbing as the idea of sleeping with Hotch. Still coughing slightly, Rossi poked his head out the door to give the kid an incredulous look.

“Hell, no,” he said empathically, “Absolutely not.”

Cocking his head, Reid pursed his lips and looked curiously at Rossi. “All right. You don’t have to yell. Why did you share a bed then?”

Turning back into the bathroom to start dressing, Rossi shrugged. “Well, we worked together for years, you know. There weren’t enough rooms, we didn’t have any cash on us, there were axe-murderers out to get us…”

Reid chuckled and when Rossi exited the bathroom he was out of bed. He waved a fleeting hand toward the door. “I’m gonna get dressed.”

“Okay. Come down to the kitchen then.”

The kid nodded and headed out, Rossi following close behind. He headed down the stairs and into the kitchen, where the mood seemed surprisingly light for before the morning coffee had kicked in. Leroy, an arm slung around Jo’s shoulders, was smiling, looking at Hotch, who was sitting at the table looking down into his coffee cup with a small frown.

“’Morning,” Rossi greeted them and they all turned to him; the Leroys smiling and Hotch still looking slightly disgruntled, “What’re you grinnin’ at?”

Leroy’s smile widened and he reached over a hand to ruffle Hotch’s hair teasingly. “Aaron’s adorable when he sees us kissing, you know.”

The younger man’s cheeks reddened and he pulled away from Leroy’s hand. Rossi smirked, very much amused. Hotch had a child, after all; he shouldn’t be particularly surprised that married people would kiss each other.

“I’m okay with kissing,” Hotch muttered, “It’s the other things that bother me.”

Rossi’s grin widened and he patted Hotch’s shoulder. He supposed he might sympathize a little with Hotch; he was still a little grossed out by the thought of his parents or uncles or aunts having anything even remotely close to sex, and he’d been married three times. He was okay with seeing Leroy kissing, but he’d picked up girls together with him, after all.

“What are you bringing for lunch?” Rossi asked instead of continuing on the subject. A flustered Hotch was amusing, but an annoyed Hotch not so much. Leroy waved his hand.

“Stuff. Sandwiches, muffins. I don’t know.”

“No wine,” Jo chimed in and Leroy gave her a wounded look.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, darlin’.”

Jo just snorted, moving on to flip pancakes, and Leroy took a seat next to Hotch, apparently deciding to leave breakfast to his wife. Once of the few things the Frenchman seemed incapable of cooking with any sort of success was pancakes, but fortunately it was also one of the things Jo cooked excellently.

“Are you making those with chocolate chips?” Rossi asked, giving Jo his most charming smile. The small woman rolled her eyes, shaking the spatula in her hand at him with an expression eerily similar to his mother’s when he’d done something wrong.

“Why don’t you just join Alex in having cookies for breakfast?” she asked.

“Actually,” Hotch said, and he didn’t do his charming, boyish smile; instead going for sincere and slightly wide-eyed, “Reid really likes chocolate chip pancakes. And we’re on vacation…”

“Nice try, sweetie, but no,” Jo replied, smiling, “Maybe on your last day here.”

Smirking, Leroy leaned over and placed an arm around Hotch’s shoulder. “Don’t worry. He can have one of my cookies,” he mumbled, though it was loud enough for Rossi to hear, “You can have one too.” He paused for a moment, before he turned to look at Rossi. “Not you.”

Rossi rolled his eyes, but when he realized that Leroy’s comment had brought a wide smile to Hotch’s face, he decided that he could do without cookies for breakfast.


	14. Chapter 14

There was a certain unsurpassable domesticity in lakeside picnics in the autumn, Garcia reflected. All her family gathered around a table, laughing and eating good food, while surrounded by golden trees and the sound of ducks, made a picture she wouldn’t trade for anything.

“Did you know that Penelope might mean ‘duck’?” Reid asked suddenly, munching on a chicken sandwich.

“Are you calling me a duck, sweetcheeks?” Garcia asked, smirking. Reid frowned, looking confused.

“What!? No!” he spluttered, “I’m just saying that ‘Penelope’ might mean duck. It might mean ‘weaver’, too.”

The last he added with a small smile as if he was trying to soothe her feelings, which Garcia supposed might actually be the case.

“Kid, you do not wanna tell ladies their names mean ‘duck’,” Morgan explained, grinning. Reid looked hesitant for a moment, before turning to give JJ a questioning look. She nodded her confirmation.

“Oh…” Reid said, “Derek means ‘power of the tribe’ or ‘people’s ruler’.”

Morgan rolled his eyes, but he did seem pleased at the information, and Garcia felt a hint of jealousy. Her hunk was power and ruler and she was a duck?

“What does Garcia mean?” she demanded. Reid looked thoughtful for a moment, probably skimming something over in his memory.

“Uncertain. Probably Basque in origin. Might mean ‘bear’. It’s the most common surname in Spain, 3.32 percent, and the eighth most common in the US.”

That wasn’t much better than ‘duck’, Garcia decided. She wondered what her parents had thought when they named her Penelope; whether they’d actually considered the name’s meaning or just given it at random. She did sort of like ‘weaver’, though, at least in a metaphorical sense. She’s tied the actual craft once, and the results had not been pretty.

“All right,” Prentiss said, exchanging an amused look with JJ, “I’m curious. What does Emily mean?”

“Rival; industrious; eager. Latin origin. Can I have another one of those..?”

He pointed to the chicken sandwiches that he had apparently taken a liking to, and Leroy politely handed him the platter, and Reid immediately snatched up a sandwich as if it would disappear at any minute. He took a large bite and looked so completely immersed in his food that Garcia had to smile, glancing at an equally amused JJ.

“Well, Henry means ‘home ruler’,” JJ said, “Wouldn’t want our boy to be confused about his powers.”

There were chuckles all around the table and even Hotch smiled gently at the mention of JJ’s son. The whole tough-guy super agent thing her BAU compadres put on didn’t stand a chance against cute children.

“Jack means ‘gift from God’, from Jonathan,” Hotch said quietly, and as his own son entered the conversation his smile turned decidedly sad, “We always thought he should know what a gift he was.”

To her embarrassment, Garcia felt her eyes filling with tears at that soft statement and she had to quench the impulse to hug her boss, because that would hardly be appropriate no matter how much the man needed a hug. The others might not think he needed a hug, but they seemed to share some of her feelings, because Leroy put a hand on the man’s shoulder and squeezed it comfortingly.

“Joanne means ‘God is gracious’,” Jo broke the silence after a moment, “It’s different roots, I guess.”

Reid, who had now finished his second sandwich and was hungrily eyeing the tray of muffins, nodded. “Yeah; Jonathan is related to ‘Nathan’ and ‘Nathaniel’. Joanne comes from the Greek ‘Ioannes’ which in turn comes from the Hebrew ‘Yochanan’ which means ‘Yahweh is gracious’. Yahweh is a name of the Hebrew God. It comes from the tetragrammaton ‘Yod Heh Vav Heh’, which is transliterated into ‘Y H W H’…”

The young man broke off, probably sensing his companions’ bewilderment. It wasn’t as much that what Reid said was boring or uninteresting that caused people to stare at him blankly, Garcia thought, as the fact that he spoke so quickly that it was difficult to catch the words and seemed completely oblivious to the idea of giving his tales a little dramatic flourish. Maybe she should teach him.

He gave a small apologetic smile and turned his gaze to the table, looking a bit embarrassed. His self-consciousness was short-lived however, since Rossi chuckled and handed him a muffin.

“My mother gave us all Biblical names,” he said, “Davide, Michele, Giovanni… Think she wanted to up the odds of us getting into Heaven.”

“Good decision,” Leroy muttered, earning him a narrow-eyed glare from Rossi.

“What does ‘Alex’ mean?” Hotch asked.

“’Defender of men’,” Reid replied immediately, munching on yet another muffin, “It’s from Greek ‘alexo’, which means ‘to defend’ and the genitive form of ‘aner’, ‘man’.”

“Deliberate on your parents’ part?” Prentiss asked. Leroy smiled crookedly.

“Oh, yeah. Very much so.”

Rossi chuckled but didn’t comment and for a moment they were all silent. Deciding that a family picnic shouldn’t be quiet, Garcia spoke up.

“All right; only Jayje left. What does Jennifer mean, cupcake?”

The young man thought for a moment, his eyes glossing over as he seemed to skim something over in his head. “’White fairy’ or ‘white ghost’.”

JJ’s eyebrows rose skeptically, and she looked quite put out. Garcia understood her, even though she thought ‘duck’ was worse.

“’White ghost’?” she repeated and Reid nodded eagerly, apparently mistaking her doubtfulness for curiosity.

“Yeah, it’s the Cornish form of Guinevere. From Celtic ‘Uindo-seibrā’.”

“Guinevere?” JJ asked, perking up a little, “That’s King Arthur’s queen, right?”

Reid nodded, reaching for yet another muffin but he interrupted himself when he caught Hotch’s glare, pouting a little. Garcia smiled, hiding a chuckle, and when Hotch looked away to exchange a few quiet words with Rossi, she broke off a piece of her own muffin and handed it to him. He smiled awkwardly in thanks, but accepted it eagerly.

When Hotch looked back and saw the kid with the muffin in his hand he frowned sternly, Reid blushed, biting his lip and offering an awkward smile. For a moment Garcia almost thought Hotch would tell him to put it down, but then his expression softened and he just shook his head before turning back to Rossi.

“So, Spencer, do you have a special interest in names or…?” Jo asked. Reid pursed his lips, cocking his head, and thought for a moment before replying.

“Not really. I read a few books about it.”

Jo raised her eyebrows, looking a bit confused and a bit incredulous. “And you remembered all of it?”

Reid gave a small awkward smile, pushing some stray hair out of his face and blushing slightly.

“I told you; eidetic memory,” Rossi said, smirking. Leroy frowned thoughtfully, giving Reid an evaluating look that caused the young man to squirm slightly.

“What does that mean, exactly?” he asked.

“It means I, uh… remember stuff. Everything.”

“And you work for the FBI? I’d think the government’d want you for other things.”

“I _like_ working for the FBI,” Reid said, frowning in confusion.

“The government doesn’t care,” Leroy said, his tone far too cynical for a nice family picnic, so Garcia decided that a change of subject was in order. Her baby genius didn’t need to hear some disillusioned Frenchman’s warning him about the big, bad government stealing him away from his family and lock him away in some top-secret defense thingy.

“I’ve been thinking about that, Reid,” she said, “Do you remember everything, everything? Like… what did I wear on May thirteenth two years ago?”

“I don’t know; that was a Sunday,” Reid replied, very seriously, and Garcia hid a smile. Oh yeah, the kid remembered everything, everything.

“Oh, he’s good,” Leroy said to Rossi, obviously impressed, and Reid gave a small, very pleased smile.

“Told ya,” Rossi said, “And she,” he pointed at Garcia, “can destroy you from behind her computer.”

Leroy raised an eyebrow. “I believe you.”

Garcia smirked in reply to his assessing look, somewhat happy at the impressed look in his eyes. She knew she was good, but it certainly didn’t bother her that someone else recognized it. Besides, it was very nice to hear Rossi brag about her.

“I can scatter blessings over you too,” she said, earning her a bright smile. The Frenchman was kind of yummy, she decided; if he’d been twenty years younger and not married.

Suddenly, Reid yelped in fright and pulled back toward JJ, and immediately everyone but Garcia and Jo put their hands to their hips and half rose, before they realized that what had scared Reid was simply a dog. Admittedly, a rather large dog that was barking at them.

Garcia was pretty much bracing herself for seeing a sweet dog get shot, but then Leroy relaxed and turned to face the dog, holding out a hand and smiling.

“This is the Jamesons’ dog.”

The table relaxed visibly, except Reid who was still leaning as far away from the dog as possible, and Rossi swung his legs over the bench to reach out a hand toward the dog too.

“Hi, boy,” he said, scratching the dog’s chin as it happily sniffed at his hand.

Leroy rose, looking toward the edge of the forest where a man and a small girl were approaching.

“Jameson, Carla,” he greeted them.

“Leroy,” the man, who looked to be in his forties, said, “Mrs. Leroy.”

“You know Dave Rossi,” Leroy said as he walked over to shake the man’s hand, “And I think you’ve met Aaron Hotchner, too. This is their team.”

“Yeah, I remember. Agent Rossi, Agent Hotchner,” Jameson said, “Nice to meet you all. Carla, say hello.”

“Hello,” the little, and completely adorable, girl said, giving them a wide smile and showing her missing teeth.

They all smiled and waved at the little girl, echoing her greeting.

“Is this your dog, huh?” JJ asked the little girl, who nodded.

“It’s mine and daddy’s and mommy’s and my little brother’s,” she said happily and Garcia couldn’t quite help but coo at the cuteness of her. She might just want kids after all.

“What breed is it?” Rossi asked, appreciatively eyeing the dog’s… well, whatever it was that one should appreciate about dogs, because Garcia doubted that he was asking because he thought it was cute.

“Mixed. German shepherd and schnauzer, mostly. Great temperament, though.”

Rossi nodded, scratching the dog behind its ears. “You hunt with him?”

“I’m working on it. We just got him, though.”

After that their conversation drifted off toward other dog-stuff that Garcia had to admit she found really boring. Who cared about the angle of a dog’s ears? She directed her attention to the little girl instead, who looking admiringly at JJ.

“What’s your dog’s name?” JJ asked kindly.

“Newton,” the little girl replied.

“Was it you who named him?” JJ continued and Carla shrugged.

“Sort of. We… comprised?”

“Compromised,” JJ corrected with a gentle smile, “You compromised. Is Newton your first dog?”

“Nuh-uh. We had Mizzie before, but she was _really_ old, so she had to go to heaven.”

JJ nodded sympathetically, but the little girl didn’t look very unhappy so Garcia concluded that she was probably over the loss of the dog.

A conclusion that was challenged when Carla suddenly gave a shrill with widened eyes and her hands over her mouth. Garcia turned to look where the girl’s eyes were trained and quickly had to stifle her own scream. Newton had just leapt off the pier into the water that was probably very, very icy cold.

At his daughter’s scream, Jameson quickly spun around and his eyes too widened as he saw his dog.

“Newton! Get back here!” he yelled demandingly and for a while it looked as if the dog would ignore his master’s words but when Jameson repeated the order the dog turned his head to look at him, before starting to swim back toward them. When he reached the pier he began pawing at it but when he realized that he couldn’t get up he began whimpering and before they knew it the dog had turned around again and was swimming away from them in what looked pretty much to be panic.

“Damn it,” Jameson swore and after a long look after his dog he turned to his daughter and wrapped his arms around her in an attempt to stop her crying. 

“I’ll get him,” Morgan suddenly announced and before anyone quite had time to react he began stripping off his jacket. Garcia had to admit that she felt a flash of pride at his bravery, but mostly concern and a bit of anger at his carelessness. The water couldn’t be more than 40 degrees and he was ready to jump in without even a moment’s consideration?

“Morgan!” Rossi called out after the younger man, clearly disapproving, “Don’t you dare get into that lake!”

He was completely ignored and Morgan, rather graciously in Garcia’s opinion, dove into the water and began swimming toward the dog that, when Morgan reached him, began fighting his hold and looked as if he probably managed to scratch Morgan’s arm.

All of them quickly moved over to the pier, except Reid who was held in place with a hard look from Hotch.

“Calm the damn dog down and get up here!” Rossi ordered angrily and Morgan, between trying to keep both himself and the dog over the surface, snapped back.

“I’m trying, Rossi!”

“Move away from it and grab it by the scruff of the neck!” Leroy ordered and Garcia realized that the man _definitely_ had been military. Morgan obeyed, not even snapping back, because apparently he had the sense to realize that he shouldn’t be pushing his luck with that tone, “Good. Now come over here.”

Spluttering and breathing somewhat heavily, Morgan finally reached the pier and Leroy knelt down to haul the dog up while Rossi grabbed Morgan’s arms and helped him to get up on the pier. The younger man coughed violently and Garcia half wanted to give him a hug and squeeze the cold water out of him, but then she realized that he was, in fact, drenched in cold water.

Jo leant over to take the dog’s pulse and when she seemed satisfied that it was alive and fairly okay she turned to Morgan, putting a hand on his neck.

“Get blankets and some spare clothes,” she ordered and Hotch quickly moved to obey.

Rossi was hovering close to Morgan, a concerned frown etched on his face and one hand on the man’s shoulder, apparently having decided to delay the lecturing until later. Leroy, it seemed, wasn’t as considerate; crossing his arms and giving Morgan a long hard glare.

“Well, you’re an idiot,” he said coldly.

Before Morgan could answer, Rossi glared back at his old friend. “Don’t be a jerk, Alex.”

“Dave, he jumped into a lake in October,” Leroy drawled, “He’s an idiot.”

“Shut up.”

They left the argument at that, to Garcia’s gratitude. She had never liked listening to people argue and she had a feeling that an argument between these two could become pretty heated. After another long glare at Leroy, Rossi turned to the rest of them.

“Okay, here’s the deal: you all get into the SUV and head back. I’m taking Morgan.”

No-one was brave enough to argue, even if Leroy looked pained as he handed over the keys to his car, and Garcia had to admit she felt a bit sorry for Morgan as Rossi more or less dragged him to Leroy’s car before ordering him into it with nothing more than a sternly pointed finger.

“He’s not really an idiot,” Hotch mumbled quietly to Leroy, who shrugged.

“I know,” he sighed, “He just acted like one and that does seem to be a fairly common affliction amongst you and your teammates.”

Hotch gave him a long look that Garcia was fairly certain meant that the discussion was going to continue later and she supposed that she agreed with Hotch on that. Because, sure, what Morgan had done hadn’t been smart or particularly thought-through, it hadn’t been all that dangerous and it certainly wasn’t worse than other things he’d done. Or that Hotch had done, for that matter.

But Garcia supposed that Morgan deserved some yelling and lecturing, and if Rossi was upset enough to punish the man she wasn’t about to argue with him. It had been brave and noble and everything to save that dog, but jumping into the lake had been a bit reckless. Especially since it had also been against a direct order from Rossi, who, although not Hotch, definitely had the authority to tell Morgan when not to do things.

She just hoped that everyone would be happy again by dinner.


	15. Chapter 15

“I swear to God, Morgan, if you get sick as well I’m gonna join a monastery.”

Rossi was leaning against the car, arms crossed and a scowl on his face, and Morgan hid a smile as he began peeling of his wet clothes. Not that being in trouble was particularly amusing; it was just that watching the older man grumbling had a certain entertainment value.

“I’ll do my best,” Morgan promised, holding out his hand for the blanket Rossi was holding and wrapping it around himself before silently asking if he could get in the car. Rossi nodded and rounded the car, getting in himself and starting it up with a sharp twist of the wrist. It didn’t take a profiler to see that he was annoyed.

“So…” Morgan began after a while of silence, except for the screeches of Rossi’s rather aggressive driving, “Leroy’s pretty pissed.”

“Yeah, well… you were pretty stupid.”

Morgan shrugged, turning to look out the window. He supposed that it might not have been his most thought-through decision ever, but he still felt that Leroy’s frosty condemnation of him had been uncalled for. He might deserve being yelled at a little, because as soon as he’d hit the water he had realized that it might have been better to save actually jumping in to rescue the dog for an absolute last resort, but he certainly didn’t deserve being insulted.

“So you think I’m an idiot, too?” he challenged and Rossi threw him a look.

“As you might recall,” the older man drawled, “I didn’t exactly give Alex my glowing support.”

That was true, Morgan supposed. There had been some true forcefulness in Rossi’s demand to Leroy and though he’d heard the two insult each other more in the days they’d been there than he’d ever messed with his sister, everything said had always been joking and kind. And Rossi’s hard retort to Leroy definitely hadn’t been joking.

“I guess not,” Morgan admitted. “So… everything’s cool?”

Rossi just looked at him for a moment, eyebrows raised in clear skepticism. “Kid; you jumped into a lake in October. What do you think?”

“What was I supposed to do? That dog was drowning.”

Suddenly, Morgan was thrown forward, shoulder grating against the seatbelt, as Rossi pulled over to the side of the road and forcefully hit the brakes.

“Derek, you’re the hell of a lot more important than a dog,” he said, sounding more than a little incredulous and somewhat annoyed.

“I didn’t take a bullet for it, Rossi,” Morgan argued, frowning at the older man. He knew he was more important than a dog and he wouldn’t have traded his life, but he could handle some cold water. That was a small sacrifice for another life, even if it wasn’t a human one.

“You expect me to buy that?” Rossi snapped, “Morgan, what you did was dangerous.”

“Look…” Morgan began, but was immediately cut off.

“No, Derek. Tell me this: did you know the temperature of the water?  Do you know how fast body temperature drops in cold water? Did you know if there were any stones where you jumped in? Do you know how long you can swim in cold water? Did you know how much that dog weighed?”

Morgan had a feeling that he could continue for a long time, so with a raised palm he broke him off. “Okay, okay! I get it. It was dangerous. I’m sorry.”

“You better be. You messed up.”

The older man started the car again and pulled out, and for a moment they sat in silence. Morgan was, uncharacteristically, nervous. Because he had a pretty good idea of what Rossi felt was a good way of dealing with what he’d done and he certainly wasn’t looking forward to it.

“So…” he ventured after a while, “You gonna punish me?”

Rossi snorted, giving a crooked smile. “Oh yeah.”

 

* * *

 

If he wasn’t so nervous, it would have been quite amusing that they were actually in a woodshed. Rossi had figured that they shouldn’t be in the house with everyone there and that getting everyone out just wasn’t doable, so instead he’d taken Morgan to the small woodshed at the very edge of the forest that actually looked as if it was used. For storing wood; not doling out punishments, Morgan hoped.

 Pulling the door closed behind them, Rossi turned to Morgan with a serious frown on his face, studying him intently. A bit unnerved by his steady gaze, Morgan raised his eyebrows in question.

“Morgan…” Rossi began, and then sighed. “Look; I need to know that you’re okay with this.”

“What, I get a choice?” Morgan asked, surprised. Because, quite frankly, wasn’t the point of punishment that he didn’t want it?

“Well… Not really. Just… if you’re not comfortable with this, I can think up something else. Running laps is just as effective as a spanking. Trust me.”

Morgan chuckled and crossed his arms, considering. He didn’t want a spanking; who did? But on the other hand, he didn’t want to run laps or do push-ups or any other devious exercises Rossi could come up with. And besides, Rossi wasn’t asking him to choose his punishment; he was asking whether he was okay with getting a spanking from Rossi and Morgan knew that even if it would get him out of a spanking to say that he wasn’t, the guilt wouldn’t be worth it.

“I’m cool with it,” he said. Ross gave a small smile and patted his shoulder.

“It takes guts to admit that,” he said, “and morals, I guess, but you’d have to ask Hotch about that one. C’mon, then.”

He gestured for Morgan to come over and put his foot on the very conveniently dimensioned billet and with a hand on Morgan’s neck he gently pushed him down over his raised leg and brought his hand down.

“Tell me what you’re being punished for,” he ordered. Morgan didn’t have to think before answering; doing too dangerous things without good reason was the one thing he seemed to get in trouble for.

“Putting myself in unnecessary danger,” he said and Rossi made no reply but a small grunt, but continued the spanking rhythmically and efficiently. Before long Morgan was beginning to feel the sting and he found himself squirming slightly, the hand on his back actually beginning to hold him down a little.

The spanking continued, rhythm and force unchanging, and soon enough Morgan’s eyes began glassing over. Not that it hurt that much more than other things he’d felt, like the sparring he did every week, but… well, it hurt in a different way. A stinging and embarrassing hurt that made it very difficult to feel like an adult FBI-agent.

Finally, Rossi stopped and with a hand on Morgan’s shoulder he helped him to stand up, giving a very small smirk as Morgan grimaced at the sting.

“Learn your lesson?” Rossi asked kindly. Morgan nodded.

“Oh, yeah. You’re disturbingly good at this.”

The older man gave a small chuckle and patted Morgan’s shoulder. “I’ve had more practice than I’d like,” he said before turning serious again, squeezing Morgan’s shoulder and tilting his head in gentle concern, “You okay?”

Morgan nodded and he had to admit that he was a bit surprised as Rossi tightened his hold on his shoulder and pulled him closer, into an embrace that Morgan couldn’t help but find comforting. Normally, he probably wouldn’t accept the gesture, but right now it felt appropriate. Besides, he doubted Rossi would appreciate him pulling away.

“You do understand why I did this, right?” Rossi demanded after a while, breaking the embrace. Morgan considered, because it was an honest question and he should at least try to give an honest answer.

“Yeah. I should have thought about it first. Sorry.”

Rossi nodded. “Good. Let’s get back inside before they think I’ve killed you.”

Chuckling, Morgan followed Rossi back to the house, planning to snag Reid for some bonding time. Or possibly TV-time with Reid; he wasn’t sure he could handle chess or go or something like that. When they entered the house, through the kitchen door, they were greeted by Leroy who was sitting at the table nursing a glass of wine. At their entrance he got up, catching Rossi’s eye and jerking his head toward the door.

“Morgan,” he said once Rossi had left them alone, “You’re not an idiot.”

Morgan couldn’t help but smile. “’That an apology?”

The older man raised an eyebrow, smirking slightly, and looked Morgan up and down. “Do you _want_ an apology?”

Frowning slightly, Morgan considered the question. He wasn’t really hurt by the man’s harsh words, but he had to admit that he didn’t like being called and idiot. He deserved an apology.

“Well, yeah.”

Leroy’s crooked smile widened and he inclined his head. “It’s an apology.”

“All right,” Morgan said, “Apology accepted.”

The older man gave him a small genuine smile before turning back to the table and taking his glass of wine; gulping down the mouthful that was left before putting on the sink.

“Dave hard on you?” he asked, leaning against the kitchen worktop.

Morgan just shrugged, not particularly eager to discuss the experience with anyone and especially not with someone he’d just met. Leroy might be Rossi’s family, and by default Morgan’s family, and Morgan still half wanted to keep him at a safe distance. Except, the casual question and Leroy’s mildly curious expression prompted Morgan to elaborate.

“Pretty much like I expected,” he said, “He understands why I did it.”

“So do I,” Leroy assured him, frowning slightly and Morgan supposed that he caught on to the slight accusation behind Morgan’s words, “But you have to understand that I make the decisions in potentially dangerous situations.”

That, Morgan decided, was a bit much to ask. Or order, more like it. Because Leroy might be an experienced FBI agent and former military, but he wasn’t Morgan’s boss. Or even an active agent, for that matter.

“Look, Leroy…” he began, frowning, but Leroy cut him off with a hand wave.

“Morgan, from what Dave and Aaron tell me you’re a great agent and I’m certain that you’re more than capable of taking care of yourself. But I’m in charge in the field.”

He didn’t give Morgan any time to argue, either that it was a ridiculous demand or that a picnic couldn’t really be considered “in the field”, before he left the room. For a moment Morgan just stared after him, then he shrugged and followed. After all, the risk of getting into a situation where Leroy’s order applied was pretty small.

The rest of the team was in the living room. Rossi had taken a seat next to Hotch and they were talking in soft voices. The women were talking likewise, and Reid was curled up in an armchair reading.

When they entered, the kid looked up. “Sir?” he said, addressing Leroy who raised an eyebrow in inquiry, “Can you translate a word for me?”

“You tellin’ me there’s something you don’t know?” Morgan teased and Reid frowned at him. He looked as if he was about to retort, but was interrupted by Leroy’s hand on his shoulder. Morgan, deciding that discussions about French wasn’t something he was particularly keen on, took a seat next to Rossi, grimacing slightly.

“I think Reid’s in love,” he joked. Rossi, after a glance at the kid, chuckled. Hotch smiled and nodded.

“He finally meets someone who knows more words than him,” he said, “Albeit in a foreign language.”

Leroy, who had apparently finished helping Reid, looked up at them and smiled wryly.

“It’s just as well. I’m not sure my ego could handle it if an American kid spoke better French than me.”

Morgan snorted, amused. “He doesn’t _speak_ French as much as he slaughters it.”

Reid, who apparently heard him, looked up from his intent reading of the book and glared at him. “That’s not true! Is it, sir?”

The wide-eyed look he gave Leroy would probably have been enough to soften even Hotch and Leroy apparently wasn’t immune to it either, if the gentle smile he gave the kid was anything to go by.

“Of course not,” he assured Reid, patting his shoulder, “You just… have an accent.”

Seeing how pleased Reid looked, Morgan bit down his retort. It wasn’t as if Morgan could boast with any particular French skills either, and since Leroy’s almost-praise made the kid light up as if he’d just been given a hundred dollars Morgan didn’t have the heart to shoot him down.

So instead he turned his attention back to Rossi and Hotch and their discussion about guns, deciding that teasing Reid could wait.

 

* * *

 

Dinner had been a boisterous affair, as Morgan had learnt to expect in this house. Hotch and Leroy had teamed up to tease Rossi mercilessly about, well… everything they could think of.  Reid and Garcia had discussed some sort of programming thing and Prentiss had, probably inspired by the other guys, started ribbing Morgan about a woman he’d gone out with a few times while JJ and Jo had mostly watched them with similar motherly and indulgent expressions.

As nice as it had been Morgan drew a sigh of relief as he got back to his room. It had been a long day and the long dinner hadn’t exactly done anything to alleviate the sting in his backside.

Reid was already in bed when Morgan got out of the bathroom and he gave a small smile.

“Enjoy your evening?” Morgan asked as he took a seat on his own bed. Reid, getting up into sitting, nodded. For a moment they were silent, Morgan trying to figure out a good way to say what he wanted to say.

That he loved the kid. Despite what it might seem like, the decision had little to do with Rossi’s stern rebuke. Morgan did love Reid like a brother and the main reason he didn’t say so, apart from it being kind of uncomfortable, was that he just assumed Reid knew it. They’d known each other for years, after all, and Morgan had told him a few times over the years.

“Kid…” he began, and Reid nodded attentively, “I love you, you know that, right?”

Reid’s brow furrowed and he glared at Morgan. “Rossi told you,” he accused.

Morgan shrugged. “He did, but that’s not why I’m tellin’ you. He just reminded me that you might wanna hear it.”

To Morgan’s surprise that only intensified Reid’s glare. “So you’re telling me because it’s what I want to hear?”

“No!” Morgan said, more than a little exasperated. Reid was supposed to be a genius after all. “I’m telling you because it’s true. Rossi just reminded me that it’s not as obvious to you as it is to me.”

“Oh…” Reid said, his mouth forming into a small oh and his frown dissipating. Apparently Morgan had gotten through to him this time. Morgan gave a wide grin and after a moment the kid replied with a small smile on his own.

“Go to sleep now, pretty boy,” Morgan ordered and after a moment’s though Reid obeyed.


	16. Chapter 16

Reid had never actually been to a Catholic mass. He’d read about it, of course; the Biblical and historical origins, the symbolism behind each part of it and all the statistics there were to be found. But actually attending mass had never seemed quite… appropriate since he was an all-American atheist. He’d considered asking Rossi, but he wasn’t even sure the other man went to church.

So when it turned out Rossi and Leroy were going to church that morning, although Reid still hadn’t quite figured out why since neither seemed very keen on it, he had asked if he could come. Rossi had raised his eyebrows.

“Thought you were an atheist,” he said. Reid shrugged.

“I am, but I just think it would be really interesting to see a Catholic mass for real. I’ve only read about it before.”

Both the older men looked a bit put out at his eager explanation. “All right…” Rossi said hesitantly, “If you’re sure you wanna come.”

Reid was sure, so after obediently eating the food Rossi put in front of him they left. Since Rossi and Leroy were the only Catholics among them and no-one but Reid had any interest in going just for fun the three of them were alone in the car, Reid stuck in the backseat.

“Okay, Reid,” Rossi said, turning in his seat to train a stern glare at Reid, “Try not to talk during the service.”

“I know,” Reid said, frowning. He wasn’t a child; he knew how to be quiet. Rossi didn’t have to warn him to behave in church. So maybe he sometimes acted a bit inappropriately, but that was because he didn’t think about it.

“Good,” Rossi replied, turning back to watch the road, “I’m just reminding you.”

To prove that he could actually be silent without being told to, Reid demonstratively turned to look out the window. Unfortunately, there was a lot of things he wanted to know.

“Rossi?”

Smirking, Rossi replied. “Mm-hmm?”

“Do you go to church regularly?”

“Nah, not really. Our work schedule doesn’t exactly allow for it.”

“Catholics are required to attend mass every Sunday, unless given special permission not to,” Reid pointed out.

“Somehow, kid, I don’t think not going to church is what’s going to take me down,” Rossi replied, sounding distinctly amused.

“What about you, sir?”

“Never qualifies as regularly, doesn’t it?” Rossi asked thoughtfully. For a moment Reid was about to answer, pointing out that whereas never wasn’t _irregularly_ , it wasn’t really regularly either since the definition of regularly included actual instances of it, but then he realized that Rossi was probably joking. Mostly because he had a feeling that Leroy wouldn’t glare at him like that if it had been a genuine question.

“No, Reid,” Leroy said, studiously ignoring Rossi, “I don’t. Like Dave, I don’t think going to church is gonna get me salvation.”

“Oh,” Reid said and then stayed silent for a moment. “Uh… if you don’t usually attend mass why are you going now?”

Leroy shrugged. “We know the pastor and he won’t give me a moment’s peace if I don’t bring Dave along now that he’s here.”

That made sense, Reid supposed. Priests were kind of scary and he wouldn’t want to have one angry at him. It was true that he didn’t actually know any priests but that was beside the point.

A few minutes later Leroy pulled over outside a fairly small, traditional-looking church. People were already trailing through the doors and Reid eagerly exited the car, his crutches hindering his movements a little. Rossi helped him to his feet and then put a hand on his back, guiding him toward the doors.

“Try to behave, all right?” Rossi warned him a final time and Reid was about to give a sharp retort when he realized they were inside the church. And even though Reid didn’t believe that there was actually some God watching him in there, he felt that respectful silence was very suitable nonetheless.

They took a seat in one of the pews and both Leroy and Rossi respectfully bowed their heads, probably in contemplation or something like that. Reid, on the other hand, figured that he could use the time before the service started to look at the people attending it. He was just busy studying the people a couple of rows behind them when he was interrupted by Rossi giving his knee a hard squeeze. He turned to glare accusingly at the older man.

“ _Behave_ , Reid,” Rossi hissed. Reid, frowning slightly, obeyed and leant back in his seat to study the altar decorations instead. It wasn’t as if it hurt anyone that he looked at them.

Before he had time to be disgruntled any longer, the organ began playing and after a discreet nudge from Rossi, Reid stood up with the rest of the room. Rossi and Leroy were quietly singing along, and Reid couldn’t stop himself from miming the words as well.

The priest, Reid had to admit, looked like he was a nice guy; about sixty years old, gray hair and a lined, kind face. The hymn was short and soon enough to the priest began speaking, fascinatingly enough using the exact wording Reid had read. It was kind of cool.

The service continued at a steady pace, Rossi and Leroy quietly reciting the prayers. It was interesting. He knew all the texts that were read and everything the priest said (in Latin, as well) and he could write out a copy of all the music. But he’d never actually heard any of the texts or the hymns, and it was interesting to hear the entire room speak in synch.

Rossi stopped him from joining them in standing after a while, gesturing to his knee in explanation, and soon enough the service was over and people started to trail out, most of them stopping to shake hands and exchange a few words with the pastor.

“C’mon and meet Father Martin, kid,” Rossi said, guiding Reid toward the pastor with a hand on his shoulder, “Father.”

“David!” the old man greeted him happily, taking Rossi’s outstretched hand in both of his and shaking it heartily, “It warms my heart to see you here. And you too, Alexander!”

Leroy smiled and stretched out his own hand in turn. “It’s our pleasure, Father.”

The pastor raised a skeptical eyebrow. “A rarely felt pleasure, it seems.”

“Yeah, sorry ‘bout that,” Rossi said, waving a hand dismissively before gesturing to Reid, “This is Spencer Reid, one of my colleagues.”

Reid awkwardly proffered his handshake as well and gave a small smile at the older man. “F-father Martin,” he greeted, cursing himself silently for not managing to get the words out without stammering.

“Spencer,” the pastor said, smiling warmly, “I’m happy to welcome you to my church. I noticed you didn’t take communion?”

“I’m an atheist,” Reid said and at the man’s raised eyebrows he continued, “I mean, there’s no logically sound proof for the existence of a god. The ontological proof as offered by Descartes has its merits, but in my opinion not being disprovable isn’t an indication of truth. In fact…”

“Reid,” Rossi interrupted him, raising a hand, “Father Martin doesn’t have the time to discuss theology with you.”

The older man smiled and waved a dismissive hand at Rossi, still focused on Reid. “Actually, it’s always a pleasure to see the younger generation taking an interest in religious queries. How do you feel about the cosmological argument?”

Biting his lip, Reid considered. Theology wasn’t really one of his expert subjects and philosophy of religion was still a bit murky in parts to him.

“Well, it makes sense initially and it does conform with “common sense” that there can be nothing that exists without cause, but there are several arguments for causality being nothing more than a construct of the human mind to fit our limited abilities to comprehend reality. Just take chaos theory! What we normally see as natural laws don’t apply and causality is completely thrown for a loop!”

He paused to take a breath ad was about to continue, as he had really began warming up to his subject, when Rossi stopped him with a shake of the head. Reid looked over to Father Martin and with some embarrassment he realized that the man was looking as baffled as people tended to do when he rambled.

“Sorry,” he said with a small apologetic smile. At least, he hoped it was apologetic.

“Told ya you didn’t have time,” Rossi said to the pastor with an amused smile tugging at his lips, “C’mon Reid, we need to get going.”

“Eh… yes, that might be a good idea,” Father Martin said with a weak smile before turning back to Reid, “If you want to discuss your faith, just send me an e-mail, son.”

Reid was about to explain that he didn’t have e-mail when Rossi grabbed his arm and dragged him off, smiling at the pastor and if he didn’t know better Reid could have sworn he mouthed  a “sorry” to the man.

Leroy just laughed, reaching out a hand to pat Reid’s shoulder. “How’d you enjoy your first service?”

“It wasn’t my first service,” Reid corrected him, “It was just the first Catholic service I attended. And it was nice.”

“Nice?” Leroy echoed, raising an inquiring eyebrow. Reid nodded, pursing his lips thoughtfully.

“Yeah. I mean, I don’t really agree with his analysis of the Gospel reading. In the Judeo-Christian system of believes worldly wealth was traditionally taken to be a sign of divine favor and it’d unlikely that such a drastic revocation of this would take place.”

He paused, to draw a breath and to obediently get into the car again, and as Leroy started up the car again Reid continued.

“In fact, the same thought was one of the main ideological aspects of the various Protestant churches that sprung up in the fifteenth century, especially Calvinism. Since the doctrine of absolution was revoked, a virtuous life became considerably more important and work was considered one of the foremost virtues and as money was seen as an indicator of having worked hard and spending it on anything but necessities was frivolous and sinful and consequently culmination of wealth was a sign of a pious life. Did you know that the predominance of Protestantism in Western Europe is considered one of the main catalysts of industrialism?”

Rossi made a humming sound and Reid eagerly continued at this acknowledgement. This time neither of the older men seemed interested in stopping him, so Reid was happily allowed to keep chattering for the rest of the car ride.

 

* * *

 

Several hours later Reid was seated across Prentiss, in the middle of a chess game. After church they had gone home and had lunch pretty immediately. Then he’d read one of Leroy’s books. His own collection of French books wasn’t particularly extensive and the libraries didn’t have much of it either, so there was a lot of reading to do. Leroy’s degree was in political science and apparently that had, for some reason, included tons of books on French history.

Then, after coffee, Prentiss had suggested a game of chess and Reid had eagerly agreed. He liked playing with Prentiss, and not only because he actually won against her. It was probably more intellectually stimulating to play with Gideon, but with Prentiss he actually felt that he was just hanging out with a friend rather than… well, his father.

“Your turn,” Prentiss announced after she had moved a bishop. Reid quickly made his move and then, after a moment’s consideration, added with a smile.

“Check mate in four,” he said happily. Prentiss frowned and glared at the board, looking deep in thought.

“I don’t see it,” she said, “Let’s play it out.”

She moved a piece and Reid obligingly made his move in turn. Prentiss sighed.

“Oh yeah, I see it.”

Reid pursed his lips thoughtfully, considering whether to ask for another game. It’s not as if he had much else to do. He did want to read, but Leroy had said that he could borrow as many books as he liked to. Prentiss, on the other hand, wasn’t willing to play with him all that often; she claimed she liked to spend her free time not thinking, and if she was willing now he should take the chance. “Do you want to play another game?”

“Sure, why not,” Prentiss said after a moment, smiling at him, “I might just win this time, after all.”

 With a small smile, Reid nodded and began setting up the board again. “Hey, Emily…” he said after a while, hesitant to bring this up but also eager to do so. Because Prentiss was probably the one most likely to give him an honest answer and not just protective, babying reassurances.

“Yeah?”

“Do you think Hotch will be okay?”

Prentiss frowned, looking up from her study of the board. “I do,” she said slowly, “You don’t?”

“I don’t know,” Reid said quietly, pushing a hand through his hair, “I mean… I want him to be okay but… he almost died.”

After Hankel, Reid certainly hadn’t been okay. True, dilaudid might have had quite a lot to do with that but the constant fear and the constant tension had been unbearable even without it. Death hadn’t seemed very far away.

“I know,” Prentiss said, studying him quietly for a moment before speaking again, “Is this about Hankel?”

Biting his lower lip slightly, refusing to meet Prentiss’s concerned eyes, Reid shrugged. “Maybe,” he admitted, “I… wasn’t really okay.”

Tilting her head, Prentiss nodded. Reid supposed that she knew firsthand. He was still a little embarrassed about how badly he had treated her; it had just been that she was the most available target.

“Yeah, but Hotch’s isn’t…,” Prentiss began, then stopped. “I mean, he’s not…”

Knowing what she wanted to say, Reid gave a small, awkward smile. “He isn’t on drugs,” he said, “I know. But still… I’ve never seen him liked that. Not even when Gideon went away or when Elle… you know.”

“His family is gone,” Prentiss said, shrugging. “I’d honestly be more concerned if he wasn’t freaking out a little.”

Reid nodded. He supposed that was true. If Hotch had had no discernible reaction to everything that had happened to him there had been a real cause for concern. But it was just that seeing Hotch anything but perfectly in control was uncomfortable. Their unit chief was supposed to take care of them and stop Reid from rambling and take annoying policemen down a peg. He wasn’t supposed to snap at the team or need Rossi to rail him in.

“I guess,” Reid admitted, “I just wish he’d be okay.”

Prentiss smiled sadly, nodding. “So do I,” she said, “and I think he will be. He’s been a lot better this past week.”

“I guess,” Reid mumbled, “So you think he’ll be okay? Even if… even if Foyet… gets Haley and Jack?”

“Don’t think like that,” Prentiss told him, shaking her head, “Everything will work out.”

“Do you really think so or are you just trying to make me feel better?”

“I really think so,” Prentiss replied sincerely, leaning forward and taking his hand in both of hers, waiting until he met her eyes, “I really do, Reid. Hotch is strong. He won’t let this control him.”

After a moment’s hesitation, Reid nodded. If Prentiss said so he supposed it might just be true. She wouldn’t lie to him. Pulling his hand out of her grasp, he looked down at the board again and continued to set up the pieces.

“What do you say about two out of three?” he said, giving a small smile. Prentiss smiled back, letting go of his other hand.

“Sure,” she said and before long they’d finished yet another game and Rossi had called them to dinner.

 

* * *

 

This evening lasagna was what was on the menu, courtesy of Rossi, and Reid only abstained from a third helping because Rossi informed him that there was dessert. Chocolate cake, nonetheless. Afterward there was coffee, French roast, and even though Hotch stopped him with a stern glance after only one cup Reid was comfortably content when the dinner ended and he was sent off to bed.

He’d finished his bedtime book and was just starting to drift off to sleep when there was a small knock on the door and Rossi stuck his head through.

“You okay in there?” he asked. Reid frowned, glaring at Rossi.

“You don’t have to check on me,” he said, “ _and_ you don’t have to tell me people to love me.”

Rossi frowned, entering fully and taking a seat on the edge of Reid’s bed. “What’re you talking about?”

“You told Morgan to say he loved me,” Reid accused, his initial anger at this breech of confidence rekindling. Rossi raised his eyebrows, giving Reid a skeptical look.

“Yeah, I did,” he said. Reid pursed his lips, trying to intensify his glare to be at least somewhat similar to Hotch’s. He had a feeling he wasn’t doing very well.

“You can’t do that! I said that in confidence.”

Crossing his arms, Rossi tilted his head with a doubtful expression. “Reid, you didn’t actually tell me anything.”

“But it was still in confidence!”

Rossi sighed. “Reid… we’re not going to discuss this. All you need to know is that it’s true.”

“Well, I want to discuss it!” Reid retorted, drawing his brows together, “You can’t just tell people stuff like that!”

“Spencer,” Rossi said again, sighing again, “All of the team loves you. You’re family. I just reminded them that they ought to tell you.”

That took away most of Reid’s anger. Mostly because he wanted to believe it and because it was, to be honest, kind of nice to be told he was loved.

“I just don’t want them to think I’m a baby,” he mumbled, looking down at the bed sheets and giving a wry smile. Rossi snorted and gave his shoulder a friendly pat.

“Don’t worry, they already do,” he teased, grinning widely, and Reid blushed slightly. “But seriously, they understand. All you kids are more or less messed up. You’re lucky you have me to contribute some sanity.”

Reid’s smiled widened into a genuine one and he shot the older man an amused look. “I’m not sure you’re the person I’d look to for sanity, sir.”

“Hey!” Rossi said, glaring in mock affront, “Watch it, kid.”

“Sir, yes sir,” Reid replied cheekily, still grinning, and Rossi shook his head with a small snort.

“Go to sleep, son,” he ordered, pushing a lock of hair from Reid’s forehead before getting up and leaving.

Reid’s smile remained as he obediently closed his eyes, happily making a mental note of the fact that Rossi had just called him “son”.


	17. Chapter 17

Just how it was that her husband could be out of bed with a loaded gun in his hands in the blink of an eye when there was some threat but otherwise seemed unable to do much more than mumble incoherently into his pillow before nine, Jo had never been able to figure out. Surely a grown man should be able to operate on less than nine hours of sleep?

“Alex,” she said, nudging him as she turned on her bedside lamp and sat up, “Alex, wake up.”

Turning his head, her husband peered at her with blurry eyes. “’Time is it?”

“Seven thirty. I think some of our guests are already up.”

“Their problem,” Alex grunted before turning back to his pillow.

Jo snorted, shaking her head in exasperation. Why did she even bother talking to her husband in the morning anymore?

“Are you planning on getting up in time to cook lunch?” she asked, with a bit of bite.

“Promised the puppy-kid to make salmon crepes.”

Not bothering holding back her laugh at the rather apt description of their youngest guest since there were only the two of them there, Jo patted Alex’s back before getting out of bed to get ready for the last full day with her guests.

It had been a little tiring to have the house full of guests, she had to admit, but now that their departure was rapidly approaching she realized that she would also miss them.

Rossi and Hotch, of course, she had known from the beginning she would miss as soon as they left. Rossi had been a permanent fixture in her life since the day she’d fallen in love with Alex and the agent was more like a brother than a friend. Hotch had become a part of their life as soon as Rossi took a shine to him; the young man had been a strange mix of eager and too serious and both Jo and her husband soon accepted him into the family. Which was just as well, really; Hotch needed to be mothered.

And she had probably expected to like Hotch’s team; mostly because both Rossi and Hotch obviously did. But it was still a bit surprising just how quickly they’d gone from strangers to being practically family.

After pulling on some jeans and a turtleneck Jo headed downstairs, feeling her stomach starting to rumble. Entering the kitchen, she realized that Hotch was the only one up. Or at least he was the only one in the kitchen, and she doubted that her guests where somewhere else this early in the morning. He was just in the process of making coffee and he looked up when Jo entered, smiling warmly as he saw it was her.

“Good morning,” he said. Jo smiled back, just as warmly.

“Good morning, honey,” she said and to her pleasure the man didn’t blush. The first… well, thousand or so times she had used any form of endearment with him he had blushed and as amusing and adorable as it was to see Hotch’s cheeks burning as he refused to meet anyone’s eyes she wanted Hotch to be confident enough in the knowledge that she loved him that he wouldn’t find the term strange. And the fact that he actually needed to be acclimatized to it to begin with pissed Jo off. Hadn’t the man’s mother ever called him ‘sweetie’?

“Please tell me coffee wasn’t all you were planning on having for breakfast,” she scolded lightly. She didn’t really think that was the case, since Hotch was normally conscious of his health; it was just that eating was far too low down on his list of priorities. But it didn’t hurt to remind him that she expected him to eat three proper meals a day even if she wasn’t there to supervise.

Hotch smiled boyishly, displaying his dimples. “Actually, I was hoping for chocolate chip pancakes.”

Jo rolled her eyes and shook her head, secretly pleased. Hotch’s eager and too serious nature had over the last years shifted into just too serious, and obsessive workaholic, of course, so any levity from the man was treasured by her.

“I told you already; tomorrow.”

Raising his eyebrows and widening his eyes slightly, which Jo was convinced he knew made him look much more like a begging puppy than should be allowed for an FBI agent, Hotch tilted his head. “You said our last day here. This is technically our last day here; tomorrow is our last _morning_ here.”

“Sweetie, you know I hate it when you do that lawyer thing,” Jo said, raising an eyebrow at him, “You’re not bettering your chances.”

“So there is a chance?”

Sighing, Jo shook her head again, not sure if it was fondly or in exasperation. She pointed to a chair. “Sit.”

With a small smile, Hotch obeyed her. Jo went over to the fridge, looking through it for something to serve Hotch. Because no matter how good his puppy impression was, she wasn’t feeding him candy for breakfast.

“Omelet or plain eggs?” Jo asked.

Hotch considered for a moment. “Omelet, please.”

Jo nodded and began preparing the dish. An omelet she felt confident making, unlike a lot of other things. There was a reason her husband did most of the cooking in their house. As she efficiently cracked the eggs, added the water and began frying, she now and again threw a glance over her shoulder at Hotch. It was a habit she couldn’t, and didn’t want to, break; just checking to see if he was still there, mostly.

It only took a few minutes to get the food done and she put it on two plates, putting one in front of Hotch before taking putting down the other one at her place before moving over to make some sandwiches, then taking a seat at the table.

“What are you doing for Christmas?” she asked after a moment, deciding that this was as good a time as any to bring it up. Christmas was approaching rapidly, after all. Hotch shrugged, drawing a deep sigh.

“If… if Jack and Haley aren’t back, nothing really,” he replied quietly and Jo almost felt bad about asking. Almost. She hadn’t gotten to celebrate Christmas that much with Hotch; he normally went to his wife’s parents. Last Christmas had been a welcome exception, even if the reason was that Haley’s parents were too small-minded to let Hotch visit now that he’d divorced Haley, and Jo was hoping that it could be repeated this year. Because to be entirely honest, her boy was too good for Haley anyway.

“We’re celebrating with Dave’s family, as usual,” she said, giving Hotch a pointed look saying that he’d better rethink his plans of doing ‘nothing’ unless he wanted both Jo’s and Mrs. Rossi’s wrath to fall upon him, “You know we’d all love it if you’d join us. And whoever from the team you want.”

Hotch raised his eyebrows, shooting her an amused look. “Do you have the authority to make that invitation?”

“Of course,” Jo retorted with a smile, “Elena trusts me.”

Hotch’s smile widened and he gave a small nod in concession of the point. “We’ll see.”

And that might not be as much of a promise as Jo would like, but it was a start.

 

* * *

 

The next day she did make chocolate chip pancakes for the team, the realization of just how much she would miss them hitting her all the harder. She loved Maine and she loved the steady lull of country-life as opposed to city-life. But she also loved her family.

Their last day as their guests had been a lazy and companionable affair. Her husband and Rossi had even managed to think up new insults; quite a feat considering that they had been exchanging insults and banter for thirty years or so. Reid had gotten Prentiss to play chess with him yet again and after lunch, when Garcia together with Reid had found the entire Lord of the Rings movie trilogy, they had staged a marathon, happily subsidized by her husband bringing them five different kinds of ice cream.

She sometimes considered buying Alex a cat or something that he could coddle instead of actual people. But then she remembered the look on Hotch’s face the first time Alex gave him a gift ‘just because’ and she decided that her husband could play indulgent uncle as much as he liked.

Dinner, to honor the occasion, had been three courses: gazpacho, beef Wellington and panna cotta. After dinner they served coffee and after that Alex got out some port. The conversation had flowed comfortably without awkward silences and even if Reid’s tendency for rambling had led to Jo finding out more about cannibalism than she quite liked, it had been pleasant.

Once they were finished they sent ‘the kids’ off to bed, staying behind to do the dishes. Hotch, no longer clearly belonging to either category, remained weighing on his feet in the doorway to the kitchen.

“Do you want help?” he asked. Jo exchanged a questioning look with her husband, not quite certain what to answer. She did want Hotch to stick around, in a way. But she also wanted to talk to Rossi and Alex alone, mostly because part of the conversation was destined to be about Hotch. And to be entirely honest, Hotch was still mostly one of the kids, in Jo’s view.

“No, you head on up,” she said after Alex’s silent agreement, “We’ll take care of this. Good night, honey.”

She pressed a kiss to his cheek and gave him a quick hug, happy to see her husband doing the same.

“Sleep well, mon cher,” he said. Rossi just gave Hotch a nod and gestured to the stairs.

“I’ll be up in half an hour or so,” he said. After a moment’s hesitation, Hotch nodded and turned on his heel to head up the stairs.

“I feel old,” Alex announced abruptly as they heard the door to Hotch’s room close.

“You look old,” Rossi immediately retorted, smirking, but he quickly turned serious again, “I get what you mean, though.”

Jo nodded. They were right, she supposed. It didn’t seem that long ago that she had questioned whether Hotch was really old enough to be a profiler, and now he was one of the best there was.

“You should be proud of him,” she said to Rossi. The Italian man nodded, looking genuinely thoughtful for a moment.

“I am, trust me,” he said, “You know… after James I sort of gave up on ever having someone to be proud of. And now I’ve got Aaron and I’m more proud than I ever thought I could be of someone.”

Alex nodded, absentmindedly putting the dishtowel over his shoulder. “He’s a good man. Really.”

They were silent for a while, continuing the cleaning up and probably deep in their own thoughts. Jo certainly was. Rossi really was proud of Hotch and even though losing James had been devastating for him, for all of them, Hotch was as dear to them as a biological son would have been. She couldn’t help but wonder sometimes what James would have been like, and especially how James and Hotch would have interacted. She was certain that they would have loved each other.

“Is he dealing with this whole Reaper thing all right?” Alex finally broke the silence, “I mean… considering the circumstances.”

Rossi shrugged. “Not really, to be honest. But that _is_ probably as much as you can expect considering the circumstances. He’s… reeling. But I’m handling it.”

“Didn’t think you weren’t,” Alex replied, “But… you don’t have to do it on your own, you know. We can come down to Quantico if you want us to.”

Jo nodded her agreement, putting a hand on Rossi’s shoulder. He wasn’t as good as Hotch at taking on the burdens of the entire world, but he had his moments.

“I invited him to spend Christmas with us,” she said, “You might want to push the idea with him.”

“I’ll do that. Mamma’s been at my throat about taking him with me for a visit for ages.”

There was another silence and soon enough they were done with the cleaning up. There were advantages to having a dishwasher, after all.

“Dave…” Alex said once they were done, a deep sigh and the tip of his tongue moistening his lower lip betraying that what he was about to say was something very serious. “You’ve got things covered here in the States, but if Foyet leaves the country I’ve still got active contacts in Europe and most of the Middle East.”

Rossi raised an eyebrow. “And are these… _contacts_ the kind of guys to call the police or are they more shoot first, ask questions later?”

“After I’ve talked to them they’ll be the kind of guys to call me to shoot first and then don’t bother asking questions,” Alex replied, the menacing glint that Jo had never quite liked in his eyes, “He hurt Aaron, Dave. I want to tear him to pieces.”

“That would be me doing that,” Rossi said, his eyes holding a similar look.

That was as much as Jo wanted to hear, so with a kiss to her husband’s cheek she left the two agents. “If you’re going to discuss ways to murder someone I’m going to bed. I don’t want to hear it.”

She wasn’t entirely sure if she should be as comfortable as she was with the fact that Alex didn’t join her in bed until an hour later.

 

* * *

 

If they had spent that hour thinking up devious and painful ways to murder George Foyet they didn’t show any signs of it the next morning, however; they happily teased each other and picked on their younger companions. Basically, they were themselves.

Breakfast was over a bit too quickly for Jo’s liking. A week was too short a time to spend with family, and she knew that she probably wouldn’t get to see them again until Christmas.

So it wasn’t really all that surprising that she was a bit teary-eyed when she said her goodbyes, giving Hotch a tight hug and kissing him on the cheek.

“Take care of yourself, Aaron,” she ordered, cupping his cheek in her hand and trying to fight back the tears, “And I’ll see you for Christmas, all right?”

Hotch nodded, giving her a small smile. “I’ve been led to understand that my wellbeing depends on it,” he remarked drily, but he didn’t seem very upset at what was probably Rossi’s threats, and happily allowed her to kiss his other cheek, “I really appreciate you letting us visit.”

Raising an eyebrow, Jo gave him a skeptical look. “Do we need to have this conversation again? You and anyone you care to bring along are more than welcome at any time. It’s not some sort of burden having you here; it’s a pleasure. Got it?”

He almost looked a bit embarrassed at that and nodded meekly at the sternness in her voice. “Yes, ma’am.”

Pleased, Jo smilingly gave him another kiss. “Good boy. Try not to work too hard, now. And sleep and eat properly. I want you to have gained at least a few pounds by Christmas, all right?”

That seemed to amuse Hotch a little, but again he just nodded meekly and bent down a little to accept a final hug and kiss before Jo, after letting her hand linger a bit on his cheek, moved on to Rossi who was standing together with her husband, engaged in an intense conversation from the looks of it. When she approached they both looked up and greeted her with wide smiles.

“It’s been great, Jo,” Rossi said, bending down to kiss her cheek, “We really need to do this more often. How about you stay a couple of weeks with me around Christmas?”

After exchanging a look with Alex, Jo nodded. “Sure. And I understand that you threatened Aaron into joining us?”

Grinning, Rossi shrugged casually. “Might have given him some extra incentive, yeah. But can you blame me?”

“I guess not,” Jo conceded with a small shrug of her own, “Take care of him, all right? And yourself.”

Rossi nodded. “Always do. You two take care of yourselves, as well.”

“Always do,” Jo repeated his words, smiling, before she gave Rossi a kiss and moved on to the others. It was somehow easier to part with Rossi than with Hotch; maybe because with Hotch there was always a little fear that he would somehow manage to hurt or even kill himself if left to his own devices.

She hugged the women, noticing that Garcia’s eyes too had gotten a slightly glassy look. It made her almost proud, in a way; that she’d get emotional over parting with them after only a week.

“Take care of yourselves,” she told them, one hand still on JJ’s shoulder. They nodded.

“You too,” JJ replied, apparently speaking for all of them.

Jo moved on to Reid and Morgan who were standing shoulder to shoulder and after a moment’s consideration she shook the older man’s hand, taking it in both of hers. Reid, she simply smiled at, since the boy seemed so uncomfortable with physical contact from most people.

“Try to be good for Dave and Aaron,” she told them lightly and they both nodded, Morgan smiling lopsidedly whereas Reid looked completely serious, “And take care of yourselves.”

Again, they nodded, and now both Hotch and Rossi had moved closer and looked as if they were ready to get into the car. Alex was just finishing saying goodbye to the women and soon enough all of Hotch’s team were gathered close to their SUV. 

Just for good measure, Jo hugged and kissed Rossi and Hotch one final time before they all filed into the car. Rossi was driving and with characteristic speediness, he pulled out of their driveway. It was just as well, really, because just as the car rounded the corner and got out of sight, the tears in Jo’s eyes flowed over. She always cried when parting with family for any length of time.

Alex, sensing and knowing her sentiments, put an arm around her shoulders. “We’ll see them again soon.”

“I know. But still.”

Her husband just nodded in response, knowing perfectly well what she meant. He would miss his brother and nephew just as much as she would, and for a few days they would both consider moving back to be closer to the two. Of course they would then realize that all the reasons they’d moved away in the first place remained, and would decide to stay.

For a while they just stood gazing after the car carrying the team away, but then they pulled themselves together, exchanged a quick kiss and turned around to head back inside.


End file.
